1-'/^.:r-:i^ih*jk:^ 


UCSB  HBRARY 


^b'iiO^TisriiEfriEo 


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^^^ 


A  T  A  L  t  ^    P 


BTMAMY  MO^WITT 


^>^^ 


WHO  SHALL  BE  GREATEST! 


BY  MARY  HOWITT, 

ATTTBOIt  OF  '•  STRIVE  AND  THBIVl."  "  HO?E  ON  '    HOPE  BVEB  ! 
"  eOWINO  AND  BEaPINO,"  ETC.  ETC 


NEW-YORK: 
APPLETON  &  COMPANY, 

443  &  445  BROADWAY. 

IS  63. 


WHO  SHALL  BE  GREATEST? 


CHAPTER   I. 

T"WO  OF  MISS  WYNDHAm's  YOUNG  LADIES. 

Gloucester,  Dec.  29th,  179 — 
My  adorable  Elvira — I  am  sure  you  will  giie 
me  credit  for  all  the  delight  I  feel  in  leaving  "  Misa 
Wyndham's  Establishment  for  Young  Ladies."  I 
dism.iss  all  thoughts  of  school  and  its  annoyances 
for  ever !  Madame  and  her  French  exercises, 
Monsieur  Pirouette  and  his  chasse,  thank  Heaven, 
I  have  heard  the  last  of  them !  Oh,  how  I  pity 
you,  that  have  twelve  months  of  endurance  yet 
before  you !  Poor  little  soul !  I  can  see  you,  in 
my  mind's  eye,  frowning  defiance  to  all  the  horrid 
creatures ! 

But,  my  dearest  Elvira,  do  not  be  utterly 
miserable.  Time  flies  fast.  Only  think!  it  is 
but  six  months,  this  very  day,  since  we  had  the 
supreme  happiness  of  meeting — of  forming  that 
friendship  which  will  be  enduring  as  the  stars! 
Oh,  my  sweet  friend,  think  not  that  in  absence 
your  Miranda  can  forget  you.  Your  beloved 
image  is  ever  present  with  me.  I  dream  of  you 
by  night,  and  think  of  you  by  day ;  and,  though 
I  am  released  from  the  hateful  rule  of  Wyndham 


2        TWO  OF  MISS  WYNDHAM  S  YOUNG  LADIES. 

House,  I  am  but  half  myself,  for  my  heart  remaim 
with  you! 

There  is  no  one  here  that  can  understand  me. 
You,  and  you  only,  my  Elvira,  penetrated  the 
recesses  of  my  heart,  and  did  me  justice!  Oh 
tlie  sweet  moonlight  walks  on  the  flags,  when  out 
fond  souls  commingled,  and  poured  out  their  eternal 
vows!  Do  you  not  remember  them?  No«  my 
Elvira,  you  have  not  forgotten  those  sweet  times] 
And  one  night,  of  all  others  to  be  remembered, 
has  registered  itself  in  my  heart's  core;  you 
remember  it  too! — there  was  a  nightingale  in  Mr. 
Smith's  chestnut  at  the  moment,  the  sweet  Philo- 
mela— you  have  not  forgotten  it!  Oh,  pardan  me 
for  hinting  of  such  treason — to  forget  is  impos- 
sible ! 

For  oh,  how  vast  a  memory  has  love ! 

There  is  to  be  an  Infirmary  Ball  next  month, 
and  the  Misses  Curtis,  my  cousins,  about  whom  I 
told  you  that  odd  story  about  the  calamanco  petti- 
coat, are  to  come  out  of  the  country  to  go  wuth  us ; 
my  father  insisted  upon  it,  or  I  should  never  have 
proposed  it,  for  they  are  a  couple  of  complete  frights, 
and  dress  so  ill.  I  have  not  decided  whether  to  go 
in  pink  or  lemon-colour.  I  have  a  lemon-cqloured 
chambray,  which  my  godmother  gave  me — a  very 
sweet  thing,  and  it  is  divinely  made  ;  and  I  have 
a  pink  silk  slip  ;  but  lemon-colour,  you  know,  is 
a  bad  candle-light  colour,  and  I  have  worn  my 
pink  slip,  so  I  am  quite  undetermined ;  I  want  the 
benefit  of  your  sweet  taste.  Pray  write  by  the 
return  of  post,  and  give  my  love  to  Anne  Ward. 
Poor  thing !  how  good-natured  she  is  !  Do  you 
know,  I  called  at  her  uncle's  before  we  left  the 


TWO  OF  KISS  WYNDHAM  S  YOUNG  LADIES.        9 

town,  for  we  were  an  hour  too  soon  for  the  coach, 
and  she  took  me  into  her  bed-room.  I  do  believe 
they  are  poor ;  they  have  only  one  litUe  back  par- 
lour, quite  small  and  mean,  and  only  one  servani 
— quite  a  scrub  of  a  girl — although,  I  must  say, 
she  was  much  neater  than  one  might  have  ex- 
pected, and  very  civil  and  obliging  to  me.  I  am 
sure  that  chain  of  Anne  Ward's  is  not  gold,  from 
something  I  saw:  but  I  forget  what  I  am  doing  ;  for 
this  letter,  of  course,  goes  to  her  care;  but  then,  I 
think  she  would  scorn  to  do  a  dishonourable 
action :  and,  after  all,  I  should  not  care  if  she  saw 
every  word  I  have  written.  I  always  speak  my 
mind,  you  know ;  1  am  open  as  the  day,  and  I 
love  Anne  Ward.  I  foresee  that  she  and  you,  my 
sweet  friend,  will  be  consolation  to  each  other. 
Anne  Ward  and  I  were  very  near  being  dear 
friends,  if  you  had  not  come.  Sister  of  my  soul, 
we  should  have  been  so ;  but  Anne  Ward  would 
never  have  been  all  that  the  amiable  Elvira  is,  to 

her  devoted  and  attached  -.r 

Miranda. 

P.S. — I  have  bought  a  locket  to  put  your  sweet 
hair  in;  I  shall  wear  it  next  mji-  heart.  Where 
you  are,  I  ever  will  be.     Adieu ! 

Such  was  the  letter  which  Sarah  Gibson  ad- 
dressed to  her  friend,  Rebecca  Wells,  the  week 
after  their  sorrowful  parting  in  the  school-room 
of  "  Miss  Wyndham's  Establishment  for  Young 
Ladies,"  when,  with  weeping  sensibility,  they  pro- 
tested that  they  never  should  be  happy  till  they 
met  again. 

Sarah  Gibson,  otherwise  '*  Miranda,"  was  the 


4        TWO  OF  MISS  WYNDHAM  S  YOUNG  LADIES. 

daughter  of  a  wealthy  grocer  in  the  city  of  Glou« 
cester.  Her  mother,  an  excellent  and  sensible 
woman,  died  in  her  infancy.  A  distant  relation, 
a  most  precipe  person  as  to  dress  and  demeanour, 
the  very  pink  of  housewives,  as  far  as  methodical 
routine  and  the  sharp  managjement  of  servants 
went,  supplied,  after  Mrs.  Gibson's  death,  her 
place  as  female  head  of  the  family.  Cousin 
Judith,  for  so  she  was  called,  was  spoken  of  by 
all  her  acquaintance  as  an  inimitable  woman ;  so 
exact  in  her  housekeeping;  so  rigid  a  discipli- 
narian of  servants ;  so  never-failing  in  her  attend- 
ance on  Wednesday  morning  prayers,  and  three 
services  on  the  Sunday !  She  was,  every  body 
said,  a  good  woman ;  and  so  she  believed  herself, 
thinking,  as  every  body  thought,  that  it  was  for- 
tunate for  Mr.  Gibson  to  have  such  a  relative  at 
his  service.  In  one  thing,  however.  Cousin  Judith 
failed — she  had  no  skill  in  the  management  of  the 
child ;  this  was  the  part  of  her  cousin's  establish- 
ment in  which  she  professed  no  interest.  It  is 
true,  that  the  little  girl  was  well  fed,  and  well 
clothed — that  came  into  the  general  house-keeping ; 
but  the  forming  her  mind  and  manners  was  left 
to  fate. 

Little  Sarah  Gibson  ran  wild  about  the  house ; 
she  sate  upon  the  kitchen  dresser,  of  a  morning,  to 
watch  the  cook ;  or,  with  her  hair  powdered  with 
dust,  helped  the  housemaid  to  make  the  beds; 
or,  which  was  best  of  all,  played  behind  the  counter 
with  shopmen  and  apprentices,  and  rode  down 
into  the  lower  warehouses  in  the  empty  crane 
rope,  until  ordered  into  the  house  by  her  father, 
who  wondered,  good,  easy  man,  "  what  all  tho 


TWO  OF  MISS  WYNDHAM  S  YOUNG  LADIES.       ft 

women  could  be  about,  that  they  did  not  look  after 
the  child."  Cousin  Judith,  on  such  occasions, 
never  failed  to  cuff  her  ears  and  send  her  to  the 
housemaid  to  have  her  hands  and  face  washed, 
and  a  clean  pinafore  put  on;  remarking,  that  "  it 
really  was  one  person's  work  to  look  after  her."' 

In  process  of  time  she  went  to  a  day-school; 
learned  to  read  and  write  and  cypher  :  (the  church 
catechism  she  had  been  taught  by  cousin  Judith,) 
to  work  a  sampler,  and  to  do  plain  sewing,  which 
included  button-hole-stitch,  back-stitching,  and 
change-stitch;  and  in  twelve  months  made  her 
father  four  shirts.  In  the  course  of  the  next 
three  years  she  worked  a  hearth-rug,  in  which  was 
a  hen  and  chickens ;  two  foot-stools' — they  were 
not  called  ottomans  in  those  days;  two  pair  of 
kettle-holders,  and  the  parting  of  Tippoo  Saib  an'l 
his  children,  in  embroidery  of  bright-coloured  silks 
upon  white  satin;  which  was  duly  framed  and 
glazed,  and  hung  up  in  the  parlour  at  home.  Her 
works  were  manifold,  and  Cousin  Judith  declared 
that  she  bade  fair  to  be  a  very  accomplished  and 
well-behaved  young  lady,  quite  a  credit  to  them  all. 

By  this  time,  of  course,  she  had  left  off  playing 
with  the  shopmen,  or  riding  in  the  crane-rope. 
She  began  to  eschcM'  the  shop,  and  made  her 
entries  and  exits  invariably  by  the  street-door. 
She  was  now  thirteen,  and  full  of  budding  sensi- 
bilities and  gentilities.  She  had  read  all  the  love 
stories  in  a  long  series  of  the  Ladies'  Magazine ; 
which,  with  Ready-Reckoners,  old  Dictionaries, 
and  Almanacs,  well-worn  Cookery  Books,  two 
Bibles  and  three  Prayer  Books,  covered  with  green 
baize,  filled  the  shelves  of  the  book-case  at  home. 


O        TWO  OF  MISS  WYNDHAM  S  YOUNG  LADIE9. 

A  new  world  was  opened;  Sarah  grew  romantic 
and  sentimental,  carried  her  head  on  one  side,  wor^ 
long  ringlets,  and  sighed  deeply  and  often.  But  as, 
with  all  this,  she  contrived  to  keep  out  of  every- 
body's way — either  in  her  own  chamber,  or  in  a 
little  wooden  booth,  otherwise  alcove,  which,  in  for- 
mer years,  had  been  pea-green,  but  now  was  drab 
with  age,  which  stood  in  a  corner  of  the  quadrangle 
behind  the  warehouses,  misnamed  the  garden, 
where  she  undisturbedly  read  her  favourite  litera- 
ture— nobody  within  thought  about  her,  or  con- 
cerned themselves  with  her  occupation.  Or,  if 
she  were  spoken  of,  it  was  with  commendation ; 
she  was  so  improved,  gave  so  little  trouble,  and 
was  so  fond  of  reading,  said  Cousin  Judith;  and 
her  father  was  too  busy  with  his  worldly  affairs  to 
think  of  inquiring  what  she  read,  or  whence  came 
the  books,  seeing  there  were  so  few  at  home.  All 
seemed  to  be  going  on  quite  right;  and  Sarah,  in 
the  meantime,  had  read  every  book  she  could 
borrow,  either  from  servant,  shopman,  or  school- 
fellow, and  was  growing  rather  tall  and  good- 
looking,  and  had  began  to  think  it  vulgar  to  be 
a  grocer's  daughter,  and  to  wish  the  family  name 
had  been  Belville,  or  Melville,  or  Seymour,  or 
Belmont,  or  anything  more  interesting  than  the 
common  name  of  Gibson. 

Of  course^  no  girl's  education  could  be  complete 
who  had  not  been  to  a  boarding-school,  and  Cousin 
Judith  was  desired  by  Mr.  Gibson  to  inquire 
among  her  acquaintance  for  a  finishing  school, 
where  Sarah  might  be  placed  for  a  year,  and  thus 
gain  that  polish  which,  staying  at  home,  she 
coifld  not  be  expected  to  acquire. 


TWO  OF   MISS  WYKDHAM  S  YOUNG  LADIES.         ? 

Cousin  Judith  failed  not  to  make  inquiries; 
and  the  *'  Estahlishment  for  Young  Ladies"  at 
Wyndham  House,  being  the  largest,  and  most 
expensive,  and  the  farthest  off — for  people  always 
think  best  of  those  schools  of  which  they  have  the 
least  means  of  gaining  correct  information — 
Wyndham  House  was  accordingly  selected. 

No  young  lady  ever  entered  Miss  Wyndham's 
Establishment  better  provided  with  wardrobe, 
money,  and  all  extras,  than  Miss  Gibson.  Cousin 
Judith  took  her  in  a  post-chaise ;  and,  as  she 
herself  wore  a  rich  silk  dress,  a  well-furred  cloak 
and  velvet  hat,  and  ensconced  her  arms  up  to  the 
elbows  in  an  expensive  muff,  and  altogether 
assumed  a  very  dignified  air.  Miss  Wyndham 
and  all  her  establishment  paid  her  the  profoundest 
respect,  and  received  the  new  pupil  from  her  hands 
as  if  she  had  been  an  angel  come  from  heaven. 

Sarah  Gibson  professed  herself  wretched  at 
school;  she  had  to  begin  French;  to  learn  to 
dance ;  to  learn  to  play  upon  two  or  three  instru- 
ments ;  and  she  looked  back  to  the  idle  days  spent 
in  the  old  alcove,  over  the  beloved  romances,  with 
a  regret  that  refused  to  be  allayed.  She  declared 
herself  "  the  most  -vvTetched  of  created  beings;" 
she  was  sure  twelve  months  at  Wyndham  House 
would  kill  her !  She  even  wished  she  were  dead — 
thought  of  a  sharp  pen -knife,  or  a  leap  into  a 
well,  and  worked  herself  into  an  agony  of  weeping, 
in  the  thought  of  the  newspaper  paragraph,  and  the 
elegy  in  the  *'  poet's  corner,"  on  "  the  death  of  an 
unfortunate  young  lady  aged  fifteen."  But  grief  did 
not  kill  her;  and,  at  the  close  of  the  first  half  year, 
when  she  returned  home,  spite  of  all  her  protesta- 


8         TWO  OF  MISS  WYNDHAm's  YOUNG  LADIES. 

tions  about  her  school  miseries,  her  father,  seconded 
by  Cousin  Judith,  was  arbitrary  as  to  her  return. 
Before  tlie  close  of  the  twelve  months,  j\Iiss  Wynd- 
ham  had  solicited,  by  letter,  a  second  term  of 
twelve  months,  assuring  her  father,  and  excellent 
Mrs.  Judith,  that  she  was  her  favourite  pupil,  and 
was  making  such  astonishing  progress  in  her 
studies,  that  it  would  be  a  pity  to  interrupt  them. 

Mr.  Gibson  gave  consent;  and,  to  Sarah's 
chagrin,  she  was  returned  to  Wyndham  House  for 
another  twelve  months.  But  she  took  with  her 
means  of  defence  against  the  annoyances  of  the 
place.  She  furnished  herself  with  all  the  love- 
histories,  dream-books,  valentine- writers,  books 
of  fate,  and  affecting  narratives  of  unhappy  wives, 
and  maidens  crossed  in  love — some  stitched  in 
paper  covers,  and  others  bound  volumes;  some 
borrowed,  and  some  bought;  which  were  stowed 
in  the  bottom  of  her  play-box,  into  which  the 
prying  eyes  of  i\Iiss  Wyndham,  nor  even  the 
teacher,  could  enter.  With  the  help  of  these, 
Sarah  got  through  the  first  half-year.  Similarly 
provided,  she  returned  to  school  for  the  last  term ; 
but  fate  had  great  things  in  store  for  her — the 
pleasures  and  solacements  of  friendship — the 
union  of  a  sister-mind,  as  she  herself  would  have 
said. 

Rebecca  Wells,  the  "Elvira"  of  our  opening 
epistle,  was  a  new  boarder,  who  came  to  school 
three  days  before  Sarah  Gibson's  return  for  the 
last  half-year;  and,  according  to  these  young 
ladies,  "  their  souls  melted  into  one  at  the  first 
moment."  Rebecca  was  not  less  sentimental 
than  her  new  friend ;  but  in  some  respects  she  was 


TWO  OF  MISS  WYNDHAM  S  YOUNG  LADIES.         9 

rather  different.  She  was  fhe  eldest  child  of  a 
large  family,  whose  mother  had  lately  married  a 
second  husband.  They  lived  in  that  part  of  York- 
shire called  Craven,  and  the  step-father  was  a  large 
grazier — "  a  well-to-do  man,"  hut  of  rough  nature, 
who  thought  his  wife,  spite  of  her  seven  children, 
"  the  very  jewel  of  womankind — the  cleverest 
woman  in  the  universe."  "  Why,  she  could  keep 
his  books  better  than  he  could;  nothing  was 
above  her  hand;  she  had  even  judgment  in  fat 
cattle!"  Such  was  Mr.  Hackett's  protestation 
respecting  his  new  wife.  She  was,  emphatically, 
"a  manager;"  she  had  been  so  all  her  days  ;  and, 
so  admirably  had  things  prospered  under  her 
luind,  that  during  the  life-time  of  Mr.  Wells,  her 
first  husband,  Mr.  Hackett,  her  second,  declared 
he  was  keeping  himself  single  for  her  sake. 

Rebecca,  the  eldest  of  Mrs.  Wells's  seven  children, 
was,  at  the  time  of  her  mother's  second  marriage, 
in  her  fifteenth  year.  Her  youth  had  been  one 
of  hardship  and  drudgery;  not  that  her  mother 
had  treated  her- with  cruelty,  or  stinted  her  in 
food,  or  been  niggard  of  clothing ;  but  she  was  of 
a  hard  screwing  nature:  work  was  the  object  of 
life,  in  her  eyes,  and  management  was  genius. 
It  was  wonderful  what  an  amount  of  work  she 
did  herself,  and  what  an  amount  also  she  extracted 
from  every  one  about  her.  Her  one  servant  did 
as  much  as  other  people's  three  or  four;  and  yet 
that  said  servant  looked  always  neat  and  clean. 
"  It  is  all  management,"  said  Mrs.  Wells;  "  idle- 
ness is  my  abhorrence! '  and  then  she  backed  her 
opinion  and  practice  by  innumerable  wise  saws 
and  sayings,  all  tending  to  prove,  that  from  the 


10     TWO  OF   MISS  WYNDHAM*S  YOUNG  LADIES. 

days  of  Solomon  downwards,  '*  the  slothful  man 
never  gets  rich." 

Mrs.  Wells's  house  was  the  pattern  of  order: 
no  child  ever  dared  to  soil  the  clean  passages  with 
a  dirty  foot-print,  or  to  litter  even  a  thread  upon 
the  spotless  carpet :  care  and  exactitude  were  the 
rule  of  everything.  No  spot  of  gravy  ever  defiled 
her  table-cloths;  and  if  John  Wesley,  and  his 
brothers  and  sisters,  had  lear;ied  at  six  months 
old  to  cry  suftly  and  to  fear  the  rod,  so  did  all  the 
little  Wellses  learn  to  eat  their  bread  and  milk 
without  spilling,  in  the  shuddering  sensation  of  a 
whipping. 

"  She  was  a  clever  woman ! "  avowed  many  a 
man  to  his  less  exact  wife;  "an  incomparably 
clever  woman !  "  Poor  Mr.  Wells,  however,  never 
had  commended  her  so  warmly.  He  had  had  bad 
health,  and  was  of  a  nervous,  timid  temper ;  and, 
after  he  had  worn  a  flannel  night-cap  by  the  fire 
for  upwards  of  three  years,  and  had  learned  to  be 
patient,  even  in  witnessing  the  rigid  discipline  to 
which  his  children  were  subjected,  he  took  to  his 
bed,  and  in  a  few  months  was  wrapped  in  a  flannel 
shroud  and  carried  to  his  last  home. 

"Poor  Wells!"  his  wife  would  say,  "I  don't 
know  what  would  have  come  of  me  and  the 
children,  if  I  had  not  kept  things  together!  and  I 
am  sure  I  have  nothing  to  charge  myself  with  as 
regards  him.  I  never  let  him  have  the  trouble  of 
looking  after  even  a  shoe-tie ;  nor  would  I  let  the 
children  racket  about  to  disturb  him.  T  have 
nothing  to  reproach  myself  with  as  regards  him, 
and  that's  a  comfort!" 

Comfort  came  easily  to  the  widow.   "  There  was 


TWO  OF  MISS  WYNDHAm's  YOUNG  LADIES.      II 

nothing  like  employment,"  she  said,  "  for  curing 
grief;  and,  now  that  she  had  seven  fatherless 
children  to  care  for,  it  behoved  her  to  keep  her 
senses  about  hej:." 

What  a  managing  woman  she  was !  Every 
pair  of  old  stockings  was  cut  into  socks  for  the 
lesser  children  ;  not  a  gown  was  put  away  till  it 
had  been  turned  and  turned  again,  and  dyed  after 
all.  There  was  no  end  to  the  patching,  and 
darning,  and  mending  of  old  clothes.  Uncostly 
substitutes  for  everything  that  cost  money,  were 
in  request.  Every  scrap  of  paper  wa«  hoarded 
up,  and  cut  into  strips  for  paper  pillows;  and 
even  a  paper  carpet  was  made,  to  save  the  common 
Kidderminster:  and  when  poor  Rebecca,  who,  at 
the  time  of  her  father's  death,  was  fourteen,  had 
completed  her  task-work  of  mending  and  making, 
of  dusting  and  putting  by,  and  would  take  a  little 
pastime  of  her  own,  she  was  invariably  asked  by 
her  mother  "  what  she  was  idling  for?"  and  bade 
to  "  go  on  with  that  knitting,"  or  to  "  fetch  the 
patchwork  basket ;  for  no  good  ever  came  of 
folding  the  hands  together!  " 

"VMiat  made  Rebecca's  fate  particularly  hard 
was,  that  she  possessed  her  father's  temperament, 
and  was  naturally  of  a  quiet,  sensitive  turn  of 
mind;  upon  which  the  bustling,  unwearying  dis- 
position of  her  mother  operated  like  the  working 
of  a  file.  She  had,  unfortunately  for  herself,  a 
turn  for  poetry ;  carried  a  book  of  poems  always 
in  her  pocket,  which  she  read  and  studied  in 
secret.  Never  did  miser  keep  his  golden  treasures 
more  jealously  under  lock  and  key  than  did  she 
keep  certain  "  addresses  to  the  moon,"  "  odes  to 
2 


12      TWO  OF  MISS  WYNDHAm's  YOUNG  LADIES. 

melancholy,"  and  "  love  elegies,"  of  her  own  com* 
posing,  from  the  knowledge  of  her  mother.  Some- 
times they  were  hidden  under  her  linen,  in  the 
farthest  recesses  of  her  chest  oC  drawers ;  and 
sometimes  even  between  the  mattress  and  sacking  of 
her  bed:  but  as  her  mother,  like  all  managers,  was 
in  the  habit  of  paying  visits,  at  uncertain  periods, 
to  every  drawer  and  box  in  the  house,  and  turned 
over  mattresses  and  feather-beds  also,  to  see  that 
all  was  clean  and  in  right  order,  the  poor  girl  was 
in  a  state  of  constant  excitement,  lest  these  pre- 
cious labours  of  her  brain  should  meet  the  eye  of 
her  mother,  which  was  more  prying  than  that  cf 
Argus,  and  more  severe  than  that  of  Zoilus. 

In  process  of  time  Mrs.  Wells  bestowed  upon 
herself  a  second  mate — Mr.  Hackett,  the  rich 
grazier,  of  whom  we  have  before  spoken.  This 
circumstance  in  some  degree  bettered  the  con- 
dition of  poor  Rebecca;  not  that  her  step-father 
was  at  all  addicted  to  poetry  himself,  or  could 
have  sympathized  with  the  morbid  sensibilities  of 
her  nature ;  but  Mr.  Hackett  was  accustomed  to 
the  sight  of  fat,  sleek,  and  comfortable  cattle,  and 
the  anxious,  harassed  looks  of  Rebecca  quite 
troubled  him.  He  declared  that  "  there  was  no 
necessity  for  his  wife,  or  her  children,  to  slave 
themselves  as  they  did  to  save  a  penny,  for  they 
had  plenty,  and  so  had  he ;  and  he  would  put  an 
end  to  it!"  He  accordingly  forbade  any  more 
old  gowns  to  be  dyed;  put  a  paper  pillow  on  the 
back  of  the  fire;  and  declared  that  "  Becky 
should  no  longer  sit  moping  over  patchwork,  but 
should  go  for  a  couple  of  years  to  a  *  finishing 
school,'  and  learn  to  enjoy  herself!" 


TWO  OF   MISS  WYNDHAM's  YOUNG  LADIES        13 

Mr.  Hackett  was  not  a  timid  man,  like  poor 
Mr.  Wells  ;  he  had  a  loud  voice,  and  a  loud  laugh  ; 
and,  occasionally,  could  be  vehemently  angry, 
especially  if  anybody  opposed  his  wishes;  so  his 
wife,  judging  that  retreat  was  the  better  part  of 
valour  in  all  contests  matrimonial,  at  least,  made 
a  merit  of  necessity,  and  turned  over  the  Morning 
Post  newspaper,  for  school-advertisements,  since 
her  husband  allowed  her  the  choice  of  a  school 
for  her  own  daughter. 

Why  she  chose  Miss  Wyndham's  Establishment, 
in  preference  to  the  hundred  and  fifty  other 
schools,  advertisements  of  which  met  her  eye  at 
the  same  time,  is  not  for  us  to  say;  for  Wyndham 
House  had  no  especial  claim  to  superior  cheapness, 
nor  otherwise  recommended  itself  to  t^ie  eye  of  a 
manager,  unless  it  were,  that  it  professed  to 
instruct  its  pupils  in  a  greater  variety  of  know- 
ledge, and  thus  seemed  to  give  more  for  the 
money.  However,  to  Wyndham  House  it  was 
decided  that  Miss  Wells  should  be  sent ;  and  again 
the  more  liberal  spirit  of  the  step-father  befriended 
her.  He  insisted  upon  her  having  a  sufficient  and 
respectable  wardrobe,  minus  all  her  former  mended 
garments  and  dyed  frocks  ;  and  poor  Rebecca  felt 
wonderfully  grateful.  But,  to  have  obtained  the  full- 
ness of  Rebecca's  gratitude,  her  father  should  have 
allowed  her  to  remain  at  home,  and  have  ensured 
herthere  the  uninterrupted  indulgenceofherpoetic 
sensibilities.  She  had  a  shrinking  dread  of  new 
faces ;  and,  to  go  to  a  school  of  which  she  only 
knew  the  name,  which  was  seventy  miles  from 
her  own  home,  was  as  fearful  as  transportation. 
There  was  no  one  but,  a  young  woman  employed 


14-  tfCHOOL    FRIENDSHIP. 

in  the  family  as  seamstress — an  unheard-of  thing 
before  the  days  of  Mr.  Hackett — and  who  had  won 
her  heart  by  repeating  Alcanza  and  Zaida,  as  they 
sat  together  one  day  at  work,  to  whom  she  could 
unbosom  her  grief. 

But  the  time  at  length  came,  when  all  her  new 
clothes  were  made  and  packed  up,  and  when,  to 
use  her  own  phrase,  she  was  to  be  severed  from 
all  she  loved ;  and  then,  weeping  till  her  eyes  were 
red,  and  then  washing  her  face  to  remove  the 
effects  of  weeping,  she  found  herself  seated  i-n  the 
large  gig  beside  her  step-father,  with  one  of  her 
brothers  between  them,  and  ner  black  leather 
trunk  strapped  on  behind,  on  her  way  to  Wynd- 
ham  House. 


CHAPTER  IT. 

SCHOOL    FRIENDSHIP. 

Three  days  of  inconsolable  weeping  ushered  in 
Rebecca  Wells's  school  campaign.  For  the  first 
day  her  lessons  were  remitted,  and  she  was  allowed 
to  retire  to  bed  as  soon  as  tea  was  over — "  a  great 
favour,"  INIiss  Wyndham  assured  her,  adding,  in  an 
audible  sotto  voce,  that  she  "  had  never  seen  such 
a  fright  as  that  girl,  with  her  red  eyes  and  bleared 
countenance."* 

No  way  consoled  by  this  disparaging  observa- 
tion, Rebecca  sate  down  at  the  foot  of  the  bed, 

*  Miss  Wyndham  and  her  Establishment,  it  must  be 
remembered,  existed  fifty  years  ago:  we  cannot  beUeve  a 
lady  of  the  present  day  would  violate  good  feeling  and  good 
breeding  to  an  equal  extent. 


SCHOOL    FRIENDSHIP.  15 

and  cried  more  than  ever ;  and  so  she  might  have 
sate  and  cried  all  night,  had  she  not  shrunk  from 
encountering  the  curious  eyes  of  the  young  ladies, 
which,  to  her,  seemed  much  like  running  the 
gantlet  among  savage  Indians.  She  therefore 
slowly  undressed  herself,  and,  having  fortunately 
been  informed  which  among  the  eight  beds  that 
filled  this  room,  was  half  designed  for  her  use, 
crept  into  it,  and,  with  heavy  sighs  and  hysterical 
sobs,  laid  her  head  upon  the  hard  bolster. 

The  second  day  w^as  no  better  than  the  first ; 
nay,  in  reality  it  was  worse,  for  lessons  had  to  be 
learned  and  said ;  and  it  seemed  to  her  excited 
mind  as  if  all  the  school  business  was  suspended 
to  listen  to  her  agitated  voice.  The  third  day  was 
worse  than  the  second,  for  her  head  ached  vio- 
lently, and  she  perceived  that  she  was  openly 
ridiculed.  In  the  evening  she  was  again  permitted 
to  retire  early  to  bed,  with  the  comfortable  as- 
surance, that  in  the  morning  she  must  take  a  dose 
of  medicine  to  remove  her  head-ache. 

She  had  hitherto  slept  alone,  as  her  destined 
bedfellow  had  not  arrived — a  certain  Miss  Gibson, 
of  whom  much  was  said,  but  nothing  favourable, 
and  of  whom  she  had  conceived  dislike  and  dread. 
At  bed-time,  when  the  young  ladies  entered  the 
chamber,  the  first  word  she  heard  in  the  chamber- 
whisper,  was  the  name  of  Miss  Gibson,  and  a 
strange  voice  in  reply.  Miss  Gibson  had  then 
arrived.  She  shrunk  into  the  smallest  possible 
space  in  bed,  and  pretended  to  be  asleep.  Not  a 
word  passed  between  them  ;  and,  from  pretending 
to  be  asleep,  she  at  length  sunk  into  real  slumber, 
and  was  woke  next  morning  by  her  companion 


16  SCHOOL    FRIENDSHIP. 

lightly  raising  her  head  on  the  bolster,  and  settling 
herself  so  as  to  throw  the  light  of  the  window, 
near  which  their  bed  stood,  upon  the  pac;es  of  a 
book  she  was  reading.  Rebecca  still  cour.terfeited 
sleep,  and  then  cautiously  surveyed  lier  com- 
panion. She  was  a  round-faced  girl  with  a  dark 
complexion,  and  eyes  that  appeared  to  1)^  large 
and  dark,  but  the  lids  and  lashes  of  which  she 
could  only  yet  see;  but  the  book  she  was  reading 
was  poetry. 

What  a  joyful  circumstance!  Miss  Gibson, 
the  dreaded  bedfellow,  then  was  fond  of  poetry— 
perhaps  wrote  poetry !  Rebecca  remembered  her 
own  compositions,  hidden  under  the  bed  from  the 
eyes  of  her  mother;  she" remembered  how  she  had 
carried  a  copy  of  Waller's  Poems  and  Hammond's 
Love  Elegies  in  her  pocket  for  weeks,  reading  a 
secret  page  now  and  then.  It  was  wonderful 
how  all  the  annoyances  and  vexations  of  her  home 
rose  up  at  once  before  her.  School,  with  the 
poetical  Miss  Gibson  for  a  bedfellow,  seemed 
endurable;  and,  with  a  palpitating  heart,  she  opened 
her  eyes  wide,  and  fixed  them  on  her  companion 
in  a  sort  of  desperation  to  know  what  her  fate 
would  be.  Their  eyes  met;  and,  to  use  their  own 
phrase,  their  souls  melted  into  one  at  the  first 
glance. 

It  was  the  Epistle  of  Eloisa  to  Abelard  that 
Miss  Gibson  was  reading :  from  that  moment  they 
were  sworn  friends. 

Who  does  not  know  how  romantic  school  girls 
are  in  their  friendships.  Our  Sarah  and  Rebecca 
were  the  most  romantic  of  school  girls.  They 
copied   out   in  little  books   every  encomium  on 


SCHOOL    FRIEK1>*HIP.  1/ 

friendship;  the  more  extravagant  the  better. 
They  exchanged  locks  of  hair,  tied  with  true-love 
knots  of  blue  silk,  and  wore  them  round  their 
necks.  They  confided  profound  secrets  to  each 
other;  they  invented  a  secret  way  of  conversing, 
and  new  characters  in  which  they  wrote  to  each 
other,  not  a  day  passing  in  which  sundry  little 
notes  were  not  slipped  into  each  other's  hands, 
with  an  air  of  most  interesting  mystery.  This 
exclusiveness  made  them  greatly  disliked  by  their 
schoolfellows:  but  that  very  dislike  was  only  an 
additional  bond  of  union — they  endured  persecu- 
tion for  each  other's  sake. 

One  young  lady,  however,  the  former  half-year's 
friend  of  Sarah  Gibson,  and  a  day  scholar,  was 
admitted  into  the  porch  of  the  temple  of  friend- 
ship— this  was  the  Anne  Ward  of  whom  Miss 
Gibson  spoke  in  the  letter  we  have  already  given. 
As  a  day  scholar,  Anne  Ward  was  a  very  conve- 
nient person.  She  made  purchases  for  them  in  the 
town ;  obtained  books  for  them  secretly  from  the 
circulating  library,  and  promised  to  put  Miss 
Wells's  letters  in  the  post-office,  and  receive  the 
answers  under  cover  to  herself,  when  the  half-year 
was  ended  which  was  to  be  the  period  of  Miss 
Gibson's  school  life. 

It  will  readily  be  believed  that  names  so  unro- 
mantic  and  unpoetical  as  Sarah  and  Rebecca, 
would  not  suit  the  elevated  tastes  of  these  young 
ladies.  One  of  the  first  acts  of  their  friendship, 
therefore,  was  to  select  names  more  in  accordance 
with  their  notions,  and  which  would  sound  well 
in  their  epistolary  intercourse.  Amanda,  and 
Delia,  and  Sophonisba,  and  Sigismunda,  and  Jesse, 


18  SCHOOL    FRIENDSHIP. 

were  duly  tliought  of,  and  tried  even  with  such 
tests  as  *'  my  sweet  Amanda;"  "  Delia,  sister  of 
my  soul;"  "  my  gentle  Sophonisba;"  "the  ami-* 
able  Sigismunda;"  "  the  too-sensitive  Jesse;" 
but,  none  of  them  exactly  coming  up  to  the  mark, 
for  two  weeks  Rebecca  Wells  bore  the  name  of 
Sapph»,  and  Sarah  Gibson  of  Eloisa ;  but  these 
were,  in  the  end,  abandoned  for  those  of  Elvira  and 
Miranda,  taken,  we  believe,  from  Mrs.  Rowe's 
"  Letters  from  the  Dead  to  the  Living."  a  volume 
wonderfully  admired  by  them,  particularly  where 
any  ghostly  correspondent  expatiates  on  the  eter- 
nity and  tenderness  of  friendship. 

This  extravagant  friendship  did  not,  as  might 
have  been  expected,  die  either  a  speedy  natural 
death,  or  gradually  fade  away  of  itself;  on  the 
contrary,  after  five  or  six  years  we  find  the  same 
style  of  letters  passing  between  them;  one  of 
which,  being  of  more  than  ordinary  importance, 
we  must  be  allowed  to  lay  before  our  readers ;  yet, 
before  we  do  so,  a  word  or  two  must  be  permitted 
on  the  states  of  their  respective  families. 

Mr.  Gibson,  the  rich  grocer,  had  had  during 
three  years  many  losses  in  trade,  and  many  people 
began  to  suspect  that  he  was  not  quite  as  rich  as 
had  been  imagined.  He  had,  moreover,  been  visited 
by  an  apo\)lectic  fit,  and  was  thought  to  be  gra- 
dually breaking.  He  had  taken  his  foreman  into 
partnership,  and,  people  imagined,  intended  to 
marry  him  to  his  daughter.  Cousin  Judith 
counselled  such  a  step,  as  one  of  convenience  and 
prudence ;  but  the  high-spirited.  Miranda  had  not 
spent  her  youth  in  romantic  visions,  to  end  by 
becoming   the    wife   of  a   grocer!      She   looked 


SCHOOL    FRIENDSHIP.  19 

haughty  and  indignant  at  the  proposal,  and  Loth 
her  father  and  Cousin  Judith  were  dumb-fcundered 
with  wonder  as  to  what  was  come  of  her  senses. 
Miss  Gibson,  however,  spite  of  the  suggested  idea 
that  her  father's  purse  was  not  as  full  as  it  had 
been,  vowed  that  she  would  marry  nothing  less 
than  a  professional  man.  She  studied  the  fashions 
in  the  pocket-books  and  newspapers;  dressed 
expensively ;  carried  her  head  loftily,  both  lite- 
rally and  metaphorically ;  attended  the  assize- 
balls*  and  races,  and  looked  out  for  a  husband  of 
her  own  choosing. 

Rebecca  Wells,  otherwise  "  the  gentle  Elvira," 
on  her  half-yearly  returns  home  had  found  things 
gradually  assuming  a  different,  and  certainly  not 
a  more  comfortable  character.  When  she  left 
school  she  had  ceased  to  write  poetry — her  sensi- 
bilities found  an  outlet  in  the  letters  she  penned 
to  her  beloved  Miranda;  but  she  had  not  become 
less  romantic  nor  sentimental  than  formerly.  At 
home,  however,  although  things  were  gradually 
changed,  there  was  still  no  sympathy  for  romance 
or  sentiment;  Mr.  Hackett  had  now  become  per- 
fectly lord  of  the  ascendant;  yet,  notwithstanding 
this,  his  wife — not  a  whit  less  careful  and  exact 
than  formerly — made  never-ending  efforts  to  re- 
gain her  power.  The  house  was  as  elaborately 
clean  as  ever;  but  then  Mr.  Hackett  chose  to 
make  it  dirty,  to  prove  that  he  was  master  of  his 
own  establishment.  Oh,  how  unlike  the  former 
good  man,  who  dared  hardly  to  say  that  his  soul 
was  his  own.  Mr.  Hackett  even  smoked  in  the 
best  parlour! 

Poor  Rebecca,  she  had  cried   for  three  whole 


so  SCHOOL    FRIENDSniP. 

days  when  she  first  went  to  school ;  she  had  quitf 
as  good  reason  to  cry  for  three  likewise,  on  he? 
final  return  home.  She  soon  found  how  cheerles? 
was  the  prospect  before  her ;  year  after  year  went 
on,  and  it  was  no  better.  Her  own  brothers  and 
sisters,  it  is  true,  were  all  at  home  with  her;  but 
they  were  neither  loveable  nor  kindly  affectionate 
among  themselves.  Love  had  never  been  a  ruling 
sentiment  of  the  household;  it  had  been  a  go- 
vernment of  force  and  fear;  and,  now  that  they 
saw  the  power  of  her  who  had  hitherto  been  the 
domestic  tyrant  wavering,  each  thought  there  was 
a  chance  for  him  or  for  her,  and  all  were  at  strife 
together;  while  Rebecca,  the  only  gentle  and 
malleable  one  of  the  family,  was  by  turns  the 
confidant  and  slave  of  all. 

It  was,  indeed,  a  miserable  home;  and,  to  add  to 
its  other  discomforts,  a  young  family  of  Hacketts 
was  springing  up,  as  boisterous,  even  in  theii 
infancy,  as  their  father.  No  wonder  was  it,  there- 
fore, that  Rebecca  felt  eternally  grateful  to  hei 
friend  for  two  invitations  to  Gloucester,  for  a 
month  each  time.  The  first  visit,  however,  was  cut 
suddenly  short  by  a  summons  home  during  the 
first  week,  on  account  of  her  step-father  having 
been  thrown  from  his  horse,  and  her  mother  being 
laid  up  with  a  bilious  attack.  The  second,  how- 
ever, was  more  fortunate,  and  the  month's  visit  ex- 
tended itself  to  two  months.  Those  two  months 
were  bright  spots  in  the  desert  of  her  life.  They 
were  heaven,  she  averred;  they  were  elysium! 
they  were  paradise!  There  was  no  end  to  the 
epithets  that  were  bestowed  upon  them.  There 
was  no  end  either  to  the  closettings  and  confiden- 


SCHOOL   FRIENDSHIP.  21 

tial  communings  of  the  two  friends,  which  con- 
tinued through  every  day  of  the  two  months,  yet 
were  as  mysterious  and  as  important  on  the  last 
day  as  on  the  first. 

The  cruel  design  of  marrying  the  "  sweet 
Miranda"  to  the  young  grocer  was,  of  course,  a 
fertile  topic  of  conversation.  Rebecca  thought  in 
her  inmost  mind,  but  she  did  not  even  confide  it 
to  her  friend,  that,  were  the  young  grocer  to  make 
proposals  for  her  hand,  she  should  not  hesitate  a 
moment  in  accepting;  but  assuredly  it  was  no 
match  for  Miranda,  her  sweet  friend,  for  whom 
no  peer  in  the  land  were  too  good. 

Worthy  ^Ir.  Gibson,  and  Cousin  Judith,  and 
even  Mr.  Samford,  the  young  grocer  himself, 
looked  frowningly  on  Rebecca,  who,  they  judged 
rightly,  had  strengthened  Sarah's  opposition  to 
their  wishes;  but  Sarah  was  too  important  and 
authoritative  a  person  in  her  father's  house,  not 
to  have  her  own  way.  Her  visit,  therefore,  w'as 
protracted  week  after  week.  It  was  in  vain  that 
she  was  willing  to  gain  Mr.  Samford's  good 
opinion  by  many  a  little  innocent  civility;  the 
young  man  was  as  obdurate  as  a  stone,  and  poor 
Rebecca,  at  the  end  of  the  tenth  week,  returned 
without  any  prospects  in  life,  to  the  comfortless 
home  of  her  childhood. 

Having  premised  thus  much,  we  will  give  a 
letter,  written  by  Miss  Gibson  to  her  friend,  a 
full  twelvemonth  after  the  happy  visit  we  have 
just  described;  but,  as  it  announces  a  most  im- 
portant event,  it  is  quite  worthy  to  open  a  new 
chapter. 


22 


CHAPTER   III. 

A    WEDDING. 

MISS    GIBSON    TO    MISS    WELLS. 

Gloucester,  March  24,  1802. 
I  HAVE  not  my  sweet  Elvira  at  hand,  or  I  should 
fiy  to  her  at  tliis  moment,  and  with  blissful  tears 
and  crimson  blushes  pour  out  to  her  the  secret  of 
my  full  heart ;  but 

Heaven  first  taught  letters  for  some  wretch's  aid, 

Some  banish'd  lover,  or  some  captive  maid; 

They  live,  they  speak,  they  breathe  what  love  inspires, 

Warm  from  the  soul,  and  faithful  to  its  fires; 

The  virgin's  wish  without  her  fears  impart, 

Excuse  the  blush,  and  pour  out  all  the  heart, 

Speed  the  soft  intercourse  from  soul  to  soul. 

And  waft  a  sigh  from  Indus  to  the  pole. 

Therefore,  I  seize  upon  the  ready  pen,  my  own 
Elvira,  and  despatch  "a  paper  messenger  of  love," 
to  bid  your  generous  heart  rejoice  with  me.  Yes, 
my  sweet  friend,  rejoice  with  me,  for  I  am  su- 
premely happy ! 

But  why  should  I  defraud  your  amiable  bosom 
by  concealing  aught  from  you?  Know  then,  my 
sweet  friend,  that  your  Miranda  is  beloved!  Is 
beloved  by — you  guess  whom !  Oh,  my  Elvira, 
Mr.  Browne  revealed  his  sentiments  towards  your 
friend  last  evening.  But  you  are  impatient  to 
know  all,  and  you  have  a  right  to  know  it — you 
who  have  held  the  key  of  my  heart  so  long. 

Listen,  then,  and  if  I  can  be  calm,  I  -will  pen 


A   WVrDING.  29 

down  a  sober  narrative.  In  vny  last  I  told  you 
that  the  dear  assize-ball  was  approaching.  How 
littie  did  I  tfc'ik  that  very  ball  was  to  seal  my 
fate !  You  know  how  interesting  the  assize-ball 
would  be  to  me>  for  it  was  there  we  first  met — 
this  very  time  last  year.  1  went  with  Mrs.  Cot- 
terel  Warwick;  we  were  a  party  of  five — Adeliza 
Jemima,  Mr.  Foster,  Mr.  Cotterel  Warwick,  and 
myself.  I  went  in  high  spirits,  for  my  heart  beat 
with  a  strong  emotion  at  the  very  name  of  the 
assize-ball.  You  remember  my  description  of 
his  person  last  year;  he  looked  even  more  fasci- 
nating this  year  than  last.  He  is,  as  I  then  told 
you,  a  young  solicitor,  of  Woodburn  in  Cheshire. 
My  father,  who  thinks  a  deal  of  pounds,  shillings, 
and  pence,  is  quite  satisfied.  What!  is  it  come 
to  that?  I  hear  you  say.  Yes,  my  sweet  love,  it 
is.  My  father  and  he  had  a  closetting  this  morn- 
ing. I  could  not  help  peeping  in  at  the  key-hole ; 
but  I  was  sure  all  would  go  on  right.  Cousin 
Judith,  poor  soul,  is  angry — I  am  sure  she  is,  for 
I  know  her  spiteful  eyes  so  well — that  I  have  got 
a  lover  of  my  own  choosing,  and  that  Samford 
may  go  hang! 

But  I  must  tell  you,  for  I  know  your  dear  little 
beart  will  be  unsatisfied,  if  1  do  not  give  you  all 
particulars,  how  I  was  dressed  at  the  ball,  and 
how  my  dear  Browne  was  dressed  also.  I  had 
on  a  white  poplin  skirt  and  green  satin  body, 
and  a  wreath  of  ivy  leaves  in  my  hair.  I  know 
I  was  looking  my  very  best,  for,  the  moment  I 
entered  the  room,  he  came  up  to  me,  and  com- 
plimented me  on  my  looks.  You  know  that  we 
had  met  last  year,  and  had  danced  together  then,  so 
3 


i» 


A    WEDDING. 


that  we  were  old  acquaintance ;  and  he  said  some 
things,  which  I  could  not  misunderstand,  about 
a  vacuum  of  soul  which  had  endured  twelve 
months.  But  oh,  if  you  could  only  hear  how 
delightfully  he  pays  a  compliment!  I  never 
heard  anybody  speak  so  well  before ;  and,  do 
you  know,  he  was  complimented  by  the  judge,  in 
open  court,  for  the  way  in  which  he  gave  his 
evidence  about  some  law  business.  He  is  so 
clever!  and,  to  my  taste,  so  handsome!  I  grant 
that  he  is  not  a  giant  in  size;  but. then,  you 
know,  I  never  admired  giants.  No  Samfords  for 
me !  Apropos  of  Samford :  I  must  tell  you  some- 
thing about  him  before  I  have  done;  but  I  must 
not  omit  to  tell  you  how  Browne  was  dressed. 
He  had  on  a  blue  coat,  white  waistcoat,  and  black 
pantaloons;  there  is  quite  a  style  about  him.  I 
never  was  at  such  a  delightful  ball ;  but  then,  you 
will  say,  even  a  desert  with  love  would  be  a  para- 
dise!   Ah!  I  know  your  sentiments — do  I  not? 

And  now,  my  sweet  friend,  are  you  not  filled 
with  envy  of  my  great  happiness?  No;  you  are 
too  amiable — too  generous  to  be  envious!  But  I 
must  claim  the  fulfilment  of  an  old  promise  from 
you,  that  you  will  be  my  bridesmaid,  and  that 
you  will  go  with  me  to  Woodburn.  What  a  hap- 
piness to  have  the  sister  of  my  soul  with  me, 
under  my  own  roof,  and  that  the  home  of  my 
dear  Browne!  Now,  you  will  not  be  faithless 
about  the  old  promise. 

I  told  him  about  you,  and  that  he  must  not  be 
jealous,  if  I  give  him  only  half  my  heart.  I'll 
tell  you  what  he  said — "  Whoever  you  love  comes 
recommended  by  the  sweetest  claim  to  my  heart!" 


A    WEDDING,  25 

Was  it  not  prettily  said?  and  he  laid  his  hand  on 
his  heart.  I  was  sure  he  felt  it.  You  would 
doat  upon  him. 

You  must  not  let  there  be  any  difficulty  about 
your  being  my  bridesmaid ;  it  is  an  old  promise, 
and  I  shall  not  let  you  off.  I  will  write  to  Mr. 
and  jNIrs.  Hackett  about  it,  if  you  like,  for  we 
shall  be  married  in  the  autumn;  he  declares  he 
will  not  wait  any  longer.  Write  to  me  by  return 
of  post,  for  he  leaves  to-morrow,  and  I  shall  be 
wretched  when  he  is  gone.  Adieu,  my  sweet 
Elvira,  and  believe  me  ever  your  own  faithful  and 
most  happy 

Miranda. 

y 

P.S. — But  I  have  forgotten  to  tell  you  about 
Samford.  They  say  he  pays  his  addresses  to 
Jemima  Warwick;  and,  I  am  sure,  if  he  do  she 
will  have  him,  for  she  is  made  for  a  tradesman's 
wife.  She  is  a  pattern-person,  in  Cousin  Judith's 
eyes. 

1  told  Browne  what  w^ere  our  names;  he 
thought  them  very  pretty,  but  persisted  in  calling 
me  Amanda,  because  it  had  something  to  do  with 
love.  Was  not  that  a  pretty  way  of  compli- 
menting? 

The  "  sweet  Elvira"  did  unquestionably  feel 
her  pulse  quicken  when  she  read  of  her  friend's 
new  prospects.  Whether,  however,  her  heart  was 
filled  with  unalloyed  happiness  is  more  than  we 
can  say ;  something  like  the  feeling  that  all  good 
fell  to  the  lot  of  the  happy  Miranda,  while  she  had 
no  joy  in  which  to  bless  herself,  crossed  her  mind. 


Vd  a  wedding. 

Miranda  was  a  whole  year  younger  than  herself 
and  had  already  refused  a  lover  whom  she  would 
gladly  have  accepted,  and  was  now  about  to  be 
united  to  the  very  man,  who,  if  it  had  been  given 
her  to  choose,  she  would  have  selected  from  all 
the  world.  Poor  Rebecca!  she  felt  as  if  her  lot 
was  all  of  a  piece.  She  certainly  was  made  any- 
thing but  happy  by  her  friend's  letter.  Still  there 
was,  after  all,  a  bright  side  which,  after  the  first 
influence  of  the  letter  had  ceased,  she  could  by 
no  means  pass  over;  "  her  own  Miranda'  was  a 
faithful  friend,  who,  in  the  midst  of  all  this  new 
happiness,  did  not  forget  her.  The  old  bridesmaid- 
promise  was  claimed;  and,  to  Rebecca,  whose 
home  was  so  uninviting,  any  prospect  of  change, 
and  especially  of  a  visit  which  promised  to  resemble 
the  elysium  of  ten  weeks,  was  like  a  prospect  into 
a  golden  paradise.  "  And  who  knows,"  whispered 
the  heart  of  Rebecca,  "  but  my  fate  may  unfold 
itself  at  Woodburn?"  She  glanced  at  the  mirror 
before  her,  with  a  sentiment  natural  to  every 
female  heart,  because  founded  on  the  desire  to 
please  and  to  be  loved;  she  saw  the  face  and  form 
she  had  seen  thousands  of  times  before,  and  felt 
the  comfortable  assurance  that  the  face  was  pass- 
ingly agreeable,  and  the  form  good.  Why,  then, 
should  she  not  please? — why  should  not  she  meet 
with  some  James  Browne  of  her  own,  as  well 
as  her  friend?  There  was  a  delightful  flutter 
in  her  spirits  at  once ;  she  saw  herself,  as  the 
bridesmaid,  well-dressed  and  cheerful — for  she 
could  be  cheerful,  or  sentimental,  for  either 
character  suited  her — an  object  of  interest  and 
curiosity,  and  to  the  single  even  more  interesting 


A    WEDDING.  27 

than  the  bride.  She  felt  at  once  as  if  a  happy 
destiny  lay  before  her;  the  little  town  of  Wood- 
burn,  the  existence  of  which  she  had  hardly  been 
aware  of  before,  seemed  big  with  her  fate ;  and, 
ten  minutes  after,  she  was  turning  over  the  old 
school-books  in  her  closet,  to  find  the  Gazetteer, 
that  she  might  read  what  was  said  of  so  interesting 
a  town.  She  possessed  herself  of  the  important 
knowledge,  that  Woodburn  stood  on  the  river,  over 
which  it  had  a  bridge  of  seven  arches;  that  its 
population  was  8000,  without  any  staple  manu- 
factures that  it  had  two  fairs  in  the  year,  and  its 
market  was  held  on  the  Wednesday.  It  was  but 
little,  but  it  was  enough.  W^oodburn  lay  before 
her  in  her  life's  future,  like  the  goal  to  wands  which 
her  destinies  pointed. 

A  moment's  cloud  came  over  her  spirit,  in  the 
question,  Would  her  mother  and  step-father  con- 
sent to  the  visit?  They  might  oppose  it;  it  was 
very  probable  they  would ;  but  she  resolved  with 
herself,  that  in  that  case  she  would  for  ever  take 
the  law  into  her  own  hands.  She  was  now  mistress 
of  the  income  of  her  own  little  fortune,  and,  though 
she  had  not  hitherto  acted  in  opposition  to  the 
heads  of  the  family,  she  determined  on  this  occa- 
sion, which  was  so  interesting,  and  might  be  so 
momentous,  to  please  herself,  and  ask  favour  from 
no  one. 

We  need  not  give  her  reply  to  her  amiable 
Miranda ;  it  was  such  as  may  readily  be  imagined — 
full  of  sentiment  and  poetic  flights,  and  professions 
of  the  most  eternal  friendship ;  but  we  will  go  on 
to  the  autumn,  to  the  time  fixed  for  the  wedding. 

Mr.   and  Mrs.  Hackett  threw  no  insuperable 


28  A    WEDDING. 

impediment  in  the  way  of  Rebecca's  visit,  so  that 
no  heroism  on  her  part  seemed  likely  to  be  re- 
quired ;  nor  did  he  fall  from  his  horse  and  break  his 
leg,  nor  did  she  find  herself  invalided,  or  likely  to 
be  so,  by  a  bilious  attack ;  so  that  Rebecca  looked 
on  in  wonder  at  the  facility  of  things.  The  day 
had  been  fixed  upon,  a  month  before,  for  her 
journey ;  and  on  that  very  day,  she  was  conveyed 
away  in  the  coach  with  a  large  pormanteau  of 
well-conditioned  clothes,  sufficient  of  themselves 
to  stand  a  long  visit:  and  sundry  five  and  ten 
pound  bills  in  her  pocket-book  beside,  wherewith 
to  buy  bridesmaid  apparel,  and  to  figure  as  a 
young  lady  of  substance.  Rebecca,  seeing  that 
the  coach  did  not  break  down,  nor  other  misad- 
ventures occur  during  the  two  first  stages  of  her 
journey,  began  to  have  pleasant  hopes  that  for- 
tune's wheel  was  taking  a  turn  in  her  favour.  She 
almost  questioned  whether,  after  all,  she  might 
not  do  as  well  as  her  friend ;  and,  the  nearer  she 
came  to  Gloucester,  the  better  was  she  pleased 
that  she  and  Mr.  Samford  were  only  just  on 
speaking  terms. 

The  meeting  of  the  friends  was  the  most  rap- 
turous in  the  world;  there  was  no  end  to  the 
kissing?,  and  the  hand-shakings,  for  they  had  not 
met  for  near  two  years ;  and  now,  a  blissful  event 
was  about  to  unite  them  closer  than  ever.  It 
seemed  like  the  highest  felicity  of  human  existence, 
and  they  blessed  themselves  because  they  were 
such  a  pair  of  devoted  friends. 

The  bridal  habiliments  were  now  all  prepared ; 
'or,  while  we  have  been  writing  of  friendship,  three 
•jreeks  have  been  passing  on,  in  which  milliners  and 


A    WEDDING.  Wf 

dress-makers  have  been  hard  at  work.  And  now 
the  garments  of  the  bride-elect  lay  opened  out  on 
one  bed  in  the  double-bedded  room,  and  those 
of  the  bridesmaid-elect  on  the  other:  gowns, 
scarfs,  veils,  gloves,  and  bonnets — the  bridesmaid's 
just  one  degree  inferior  to  the  bride's. 

"  Well,  it  will  be  your  turn  next,  my  sweet 
girl,"  said  Sarah  Gibson,  while  they  were  sur\'eying, 
with  ineffable  pleasure,  all  the  silken  pomp  that  lay 
before  them;    and  she  kissed  her  as  she  spoke. 

Rebecca  shook  her  head,  and  said  she  did  not 
know  when;  but  she  wished  in  her  heart — which 
was  a  most  natural  and  proper  wish  at  such  a  time 
— "  that  it  might,  and  that  soon  too!" 

The  two  young  ladies  then  went  into  the  back 
parlour,  where  ^Mr.  Gibson  sate  in  his  high-backed 
leather  chair,  looking  very  well  pleased,  and 
Cousin  Judith  was  busied  about  tea,  leaving  all 
the  glory  of  the  next  day's  garments  to  be  sur- 
veyed by  the  cook  and  oharwoman,  who,  with 
their  hands  folded  in  their  aprons,  stole  in  quietly, 
to  take  a  leisurely  survey  not  only  of  them,  but  of 
the  two  great  bride-cakes  which  stood  on  "  the 
great  tea-tray"  on  the  chest  of  drawers,  and  which 
were  to  be  cut  up  in  the  evening. 

Tea  was  delayed  an  hour  after  the  usual  time, 
to  wait  the  arrival  of  the  coach  by  which  the  hus- 
band-elect was  expected.  He  came ;  and  Rebecca, 
who,  from  her  friend's  description,  expected  at 
least  an  Apollo  in  brown  clothes,  was  greatly 
disappointed  at  his  appearance — a  short,  mean- 
looking  young  man,  with  a  sallow  complexion, 
and  thin  drab  hair.  He  might  be  professional; 
he  was,  no  doubt,  a  prosperous  and  very  clevef 


80  A    WEDDING. 

lawyer — one  to  elicit  compliments  from  the  judge 
on  the  bench — but  he  was  not  quite  such  as  her 
excited  imagination  expected :  why,  in  point  of 
exterior,  Samford,  with  his  shop-apron  wound 
round  his  body,  was  more  of  a  man  to  look  at. 

All  these,  however,  were  observations  to  be 
thought,  not  to  be  spoken.  The  bride-elect,  it 
was  evident,  saw  nothing  to  object  to :  he  called 
her  his  "  sweet  Amanda; "  begged  to  salute  her 
friend,  *'  the  amiable  Elvira; "  laid  his  hand  upon 
his  heart,  and  bowed  very  low,  evidently  possessed 
with  the  idea  of  being  a  most  accomplished  person. 

The  wedding-morning  rose  with  all  that  bril- 
liancy peculiar  to  autumnal  mornings.  That  old 
street  of  Gloucester  in  which  !Mr.  Gibson's  house 
stood,  with  its  picturesque  gables  and  projecting 
porches,  seemed  to  wear  quite  a  holiday  aspect. 

Rebecca,  at  seven  o'clock,  half-opened  her 
window  curtains,  and  glanced  up  the  street  and 
down ;  and,  as  she  saw  the  strong  lights  and 
shadows  that  stretched  athwart  the  narrow  street, 
and  the  brilliant  atmosphere,  all  one  burst  of 
dewy  sunshine,  felt  as  if  it  were  the  most  beauti- 
ful sight  she  had  ever  seen,  and  ran  to  her  friend's 
bed-side,  with  the  announcement  that  "  Nature 
herself  was  wearing  her  brightest  aspect,  in  honour 
of  her  nuptials." 

The  youngest  apprentice,  the  porter,  and  the 
errand-boy,  had  been  up  and  busy  since  before  day- 
light, in  the  business-regions  of  the  house.  The 
brass-mouldings  of  the  shop-windows,  Mr.  Sam- 
ford's  modern  innovation,  polished  to  their  utmost, 
were  now  dazzling  the  eyes  of  the  early  passers- 
by,  as  the  slant  rays  of  the  sun  were  redected  in 


A    WEDDING.  St 

them.  ITie  shop-windows,  emptied  over  night, 
had  been  cleaned  and  rubbed  up ;  and  all  the 
show-goods ;  japanned  tea-cheets  ;  nodding  man- 
darins ;  boxes  of  raisins  ;  baskets  of  figs  ;  and 
black  Indians,  smoking  long  pipes;  with  little 
cones  of  sample-sugar,  were  all  newly  and  neatly 
arranged.  The  shop-floor  had  been  carefully  swept 
and  watered ;  the  flags  before  the  whole  length  of 
the  front,  and  even  many  yards  beyond,  on  either 
hand,  had  been  swept  and  watered  likewise  *  the 
knocker  of  the  street-door  was  polished  to  an 
extraordinary  lustre  ;  and  the  door-step  was  as 
white  as  hands  could  make  it. 

Anybody,  with  half  an  eye,  who  had  never 
heard  of  Mr.  Gibson  in  all  their  life,  might  have 
known,  on  passing  the  house  that  morning,  that 
something  important  was  about  to  take  place. 
Mr.  Samford,  however,  although  his  proper  do- 
main, the  shop,  was  thus  wearing  its  best  exterior, 
seemed  himself  in  no  holiday  humour.  He  stood 
with  his  e very-day  coat  on,  and  his  apron  '^ore 
him,  weighing  up  pounds  and  half-pounds  ui  raw 
sugar,  with  his  eyes  occupied  by  his  employment, 
as  though  nothing  beside  in  the  whole  world  was 
worth  a  grown  man's  attention. 

At  half-past  eight  o'clock,  idle  men  and  women 
might  be  seen  standing  in  little  groups  and  knots, 
within  sight  of  the  grocer's  house ;  the  tanner's 
men  were  standing  at  the  tan-yard  gate,  with 
their  sleeves  rolled  up  above  their  elbows,  and 
with  them  stood  the  two  dyers  from  over  the 
way ;  while  three  carpenters,  carrying  deal  planks, 
joined  them  also,  thinking  it  would  not  be  long 
before   they   went   to   church,  especially  as,   in 


32  A    WEDDING, 

passing  the  Black  Bull,  they  had  seen  the  two 
chaises  out,  and  one  pair  of  horses  ;  and  Jack, 
the  ostler,  had  said  that  "  the  other  pair  would  be 
out  in  a  jiffy."  The  milliner's  young  women, 
who,  on  this  morning,  had  been  punctual  to  their 
time,  and  who  thought  it  fortunate  that  the  work- 
room window  had  such  a  good  view,  had  taken 
down  the  blinds,  and  sat  down  on  the  look-out, 
reacW  to  jump  up  at  the  first  moment.  The 
baroer's  shop  was  full  of  people,  all  waiting  to  be 
shaved,  but  each  refusing  to  submit  to  the  opera- 
tion, lest  his  chin  should  be  veiled  in  suds  at  the 
critical  moment.  There  was  not  a  servant  within 
view  of  the  Gibsons,  who  had  not  found  some 
excuse  to  be  up  stairs,  and,  with  duster  in  hand, 
under  pretence  of  being  very  busy,  came  ever  and 
anon  to  the  windows;  while  others,  with  more 
leisure  or  less  conscience,  leaned  out,  resting 
their  arms  on  the  stone  window-sills.  There 
were  women,  and  big  boys,  standing  with  jugs 
and  buckets  about  the  pump,  all  deferring  to 
move  off,  till  they  had  seen  Miss  Gibson  go  to  be 
married. 

At  a  quarter  before  nine,  the  milliner's  young 
women  all  rushed  to  the  windows,  for  one  of 
them  had  given  information  that  the  bride  was 
dressed,  for  she  had  seen  her,  in  bonnet  and  veil, 
pass  the  bed-room  window :  she  knew  the  bonnet, 
for  she  had  helped  to  make  it.  "  And  now, 
there  she  was  again!"  And  then  came  a  disputa- 
tion as  to  whether  it  was  the  bride  or  the  bride's- 
maid ;  whether  her  bonnet  had  orange  flowers  in 
it,  or  white  ribbon:  the  fair  milliners  were  just 
getting  vehement  on  this  important  topic,  when  a 


A  WEnniNO.  33 

new  object  diverted  all  attention — a  chaise  from 

the  Black  Bull,  with  white  horses,  dashed  up  to 
the  house-door — and  the  next  moment,  as  if  by- 
magic,  four  young  girls  in  white,  and  with  baskets 
of  flowers  in  their  hands,  stood,  two  on  each  side, 
between  the  steps  of  the  chaise  and  the  house- 
door.  The  house-door  was  thrown  open  with  a 
loud  sound ;  another  chaise  then  dashed  up  in  the 
rear ;  the  bride,  habited  in  white  from  head  to 
foot,  leaning  on  her  father's  arm,  came  forth ;  the 
young  girls  scattered  their  flowers — by  the  bye, 
this  was  a  device  of  Rebecca's; — the^haise  moved 
off";  the  second  was  in  its  place  in  an  instant;  as 
instantly  the  bridegroom  and  bridesmaid  had 
entered  it,  and  the  two  chaises  rattled  off"  down 
the  street,  across  the  market-place,  and  up  to  the 
church-gate,  drawing  a  hundred  admiring  eyes 
after  them. 

The  tanners  and  the  dyers  returned  to  their 
respective  places;  the  carpenters  carried  off*  their 
deal  planks;  the  young  milliners  sat  down  to 
await  the  return;  the  barber's  customers  sat  down 
to  be  shaved ;  and  Mr.  Samford  went  into  the 
back  parlour  to  take  his  breakfast  with  the  appren- 
tices; while  Mrs.  Judith  was  busied  with  all  her 
handmaidens,  in  preparing  the  grand  breakfast 
up  stairs,  that  all  might  be  ready  when  the  h^pf 
people  returned  from  church. 


M 

CHAPTER  IV. 

ANOTHER    WEDDING. 

There  is  something  very  interesting  to  us  in  a 
wedding.  From  that  of  the  Queen  of  England, 
the  lace  of  whose  marriage-dress  cost  a  thousand 
pounds,  down  to  that  of  the  poor  servant  girl  who 
leaves  her  place  with  her  last  year's  wages  in  her 
pocket,  and  all  her  worldly  goods  contained  in  a 
papered  trunft,  to  be  married  to  her  fellow- servant; 
ay,  even  down  to  the  poor,  cottagers,  who  have 
scraped  together  five  pounds  wherewith  to  furnish 
their  cottage,  and  begin  life  with  a  single  groat 
between  them ;  still,  as  a  crisis  in  human  life,  as 
the  hinge  upon  which  the  future  momentously 
turns  for  good  or  for  evil,  for  happiness  or  for 
misery,  a  wedding  is  always  interesting.  We 
hope,  therefore,  our  readers  will  not  think  all  the 
little  detail  which  we  have  given  in  our  last  chapter 
as  unimportant,  nor  yet  will  be  undesirous  of 
knowing  how,  as  is  not  unfrequently  the  case,  one 
wedding  brought  about  another. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browne  spent,  not  a  honeymoon, 
but  a  honey- week,  in  the  pleasant  neighbourhood 
of  Warwick.  It  was  before  the  days  of  the 
Waverly  Novels ;  still  it  was  quite  customary,  if 
not  fashionable,  to  visit  the  ruins  of  Kenilworth, 
as  well  as  to  admire  the  stately  castle  of  Warwick 
and  its  fine  pictures.  It  is  generally  understood, 
that  nothing  is  so  uninteresting  as  to  be  the  com- 
panion of  a  new- married  couple.  They  are  so 
taken  up  by  each  other,  as  to  have  neither  time  noi 


ANOTHER    WEDDING.  99 

attention  for  anybody  else;  anybody  else  is,  m 
fact,  in  their  way.  But  poor  Rebecca,  glad  to 
have  any  change  from  the  monotony  and  annoy- 
ances of  her  home,  and  filled  with  hopes  of  all 
kind  and  pleasant  visions  for  herself,  thought  the 
six  days  of  the  honey-week  almost  as  delightful 
as  the  bride  thought  them  herself.  Moreover, 
from  being  accustomed  to  him  and  his  little  polite 
civilities,  she  had  come  to  think  Mr.  Browne  one 
of  the  most  delightful  of  men,  and  to  marvel  at 
her  own  want  of  taste  when  first  they  met. 

Had  Rebecca  had  any  other  correspondent 
beside  her  "  sweet  Miranda,"  she  would  have  in- 
dited long  sentimental  epistles,  in  which  "  Hymen's 
blissful  chains,"  and  other  similar  figures  of  speech, 
would  have  been  conspicuous;  but,  as  it  was,  all 
those  flourishes  of  rhetoric  were  kept  in  her  own 
breast,  and  she  contented  herself  with  knowing 
that  they  were  a  very  interesting  trio;  and  with 
thinking  it  a  thousand  pities  that  all  the  gay 
parties,  young  and  old,  that  they  encountered  in 
each  day's  ramble,  did  not  know  who  and  what 
they  were. 

In  a  little  town  like  AVoodburn  it  was  known  in 
every  house,  in  every  street  and  lane,  that  Mr. 
Browne,  the  lawyer,  went  the  last  Wednesday  to 
Gloucester  to  be  married,  and  would,  on  the  next 
Thursday  evening,  bring  home  his  wife.  Accord- 
ingly, everybody  was  on  the  look-out ;  and  a  very- 
satisfactory  account  was  rendered  to  those  who 
had  not  an  opportunity  of  witnessing  the  arrival 
of  the  post-chariot  which  had  been  hired  for  the 
occasion,  even  to  the  smart  shade  of  the  bride's 
travelling  pelisse,  and  the  fur  with  which  it  waa 
4 


M  ANOTHER    WEDDING. 

trimmed.  By  nine  o'clock,  not  an  individual  of 
the  town  but  was  apprized  of  the  circumstance, 
for  the  ringers  had  received  a  couple  of  guineas, 
and  the  little  church  tower  rocked  with  a  peal  of 
joyous  welcome. 

Mrs.  Browne  made  two  discoveries  respecting 
her  new  position,  very  soon  after  she  became  an 
inhabitant  of  Woodburn,  which  were  the  first 
causes  of  her  chagrin.  Their  house  was  small,  in 
a  bad  situation,  and  only  of  third  or  fourth-rate 
rank,  and  her  husband  was  by  no  means  the  first 
solicitor  of  the  place  :  he  did  not  even  visit  with 
the  grandees  of  the  place;  and,  ten  to  one,  she 
would  not  be  called  upon  by  them.  She  became 
nervously  sensitive,  therefore,  as  to  her  former 
connexion  with  trade,  and  extremely  solicitous 
that  her  first  appearance  should  not  compromise 
her  claim  to  the  notice  of  the  first  people  of  the 
neighbourhood.  Nobody,  however,  of  superior 
pretensions  made  it  the  rage  to  visit  the  bride. 
Mr.  Browne's  own  acquaintance  and  friends,  and 
a  few  clients  and  their  wives,  and  one  or  two  other 
families,  whose  position  in  society  was  a  sort  of 
debateable  ground  between  the  higher  and  the 
middle  classes,  called  only  to  pay  them  compli- 
ments on  the  occasion — to  criticise  the  bride,  in 
fact,  while  they  ate  the  cake  and  drank  health  and 
happiness  to  the  new-married  couple. 

Among  Mr.  Browne's  friends  was  a  Mr.  Greg- 
son,  a  rheese-factor,  a  very  prosperous  young  man, 
who  lived  in  a  respectable  old  house,  inherited, 
with  his  trade,  from  his  father,  and  which,  with 
its  substantial  warehouses,  larger  even  than  the 
House  itself,  stood  in  Bridge-street,  one  of  the 


AKOTHER    WEDDING.  87 

best  streets  in  Woodbum,  with  a  large  walled 
garden  behind  it.  Gregson  was  unquestionably 
a  man  of  great  respectability;  he  understood  hu 
business,  and  was  no  way  ashamed  of  it;  he 
bought  more  cheese  than  any  other  man  in  the 
county,  and  had  ready  money  always  at  command. 
There  was  not  a  gentleman  farmer,  for  many  and 
many  miles  round,  with  whom  he  was  not  greatly 
in  favour,  both  for  his  own  personal  qualities,  and 
for  his  easy  circumstances.  He  was,  according 
to  his  own  account  of  himself,  "  a  plain,  down- 
right, good  sort  of  fellow,  who  looked  for  no  better 
bread  than  could  be  made  of  wheat,  and  had 
always  a  good  appetite  to  give  it  a  relish  withal." 

Gregson  had  been  an  acquaintance  of  Browne's, 
from  the  very  day  when  he  first  came  as  an  humble 
writer  to  the  office  of  Peake  and  Mordan,  the 
great  solicitors  of  the  place;  and,  now  that  Browne, 
to  use  an  American  phrase,  was  "  going  a-head," 
Gregson  was  no  less  his  friend;  for  he  had  a 
pleasure,  he  said,  in  seeing  an  industrious  fellow 
making  his  way  in  the  world. 

Gregson  looked  in  at  the  office  on  Friday 
morning,  to  wish  his  friend  happiness,  and  was 
invited  to  come  in  and  sup  with  them  on  Sunday 
night,  quite  in  a  friendly  way.  Mrs.  Browne,  now 
that  she  was  a  solicitor's  wife,  had,  as  we  have 
already  said,  in  this  early  stage  of  her  married  life, 
no  very  serious  intentions  of  patronising  people  in 
trade,  further  than  by  the  purchase  of  their  goods; 
therefore,  she  held  herself  somewhat  lofty  when 
her  husband,  on  Sunday  evening,  presented  to  her 
his  friend;  and  more  especially  so,  as  she  was 
then  hoping  that  all  the  grandees  of  the  town  and 


38  ANOTHER    WEDDING. 

neighbourhood  would  be  thronging  the  doors 
during  the  three  following  days. 

Gregson  was  a  hale,  robust,  ruddy -com- 
plexioned  man,  on  whom  good  air  and  exercise, 
riding  to  fairs  and  markets,  and  looking  after  a 
prosperous  concern,  had  bestowed  sound  health 
and  good  spirits.  Mrs.  Browne  declared  him  to  be 
"  horridly  vulgar,  and  a  great  bore,"  and  pro- 
tested that,  if  he  came  often,  she  would  always  leave 
the  room.  This  was  the  first  point  of  difference 
between  herself  and  her  husband;  and,  as  Rebecca 
declared,  with  Mr.  Browne,  that  she  thought  his 
friend  not  only  passingly  agreeable,  but  very 
good-looking,  the  fair  bride  grew  seriously  angry, 
and  that  evening  closed  upon  their  first  disunion. 

Mrs.  Browne  had  made  up  her  mind  to  dislike 
Gregson :  he  was  vulgar,  and  a  cheese-factor — - 
she  was  sure,  she  said,  that  he  smelt  of  cheese; 
and,  who  would  visit  them  if  he  were  to  be  seen 
in  their  drawing-room,  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  at  the  windows,  just  as  if  he  were  at 
home,  and  lolling  in  the  chair,  and  leaning  back 
on  its  hind  legs,  as  he  did,  talking  so  loud  and 
freely  all  the  while — she  would  not  endure  it: 
and,  besides,  it  was  right  for  them  to  respect  their 
standing  in  society ;  there  certainly  was  no  need 
for  them  to  associate  with  cheese-factors,  and  such- 
like people !  Such  were  the  arguments  she  used 
the  next  morning  at  breakfast,  when  the  subject 
was  again  introduced.  Her  husband  laughed  at 
her,  and  talked  of  Gregson's  good  heart  and  full 
purse ;  but  the  lady  had  made  up  her  mind,  and 
would  not  be  convinced.  Time,  however,  brings 
about  changes  which  wy  arguments  ever  could; 


ANOTHER    WEDDING.  89 

and  as,  spite  of  all  the  hopes  the  lawyer's  lady 
entertained  of  the  "carriage-people"  who  would 
call  upon  them,  a  few  weeks  convinced  her  that, 
in  this  particular,  fortune  had  nothing  very  tri- 
umphant in  store  for  her,  she  began,  by  degrees, 
to  see  less  objection  to  Mr.  Gregson,  notwith- 
standing his  unabated  spirits,  and  his  free  and 
easy  way  of  sitting  in  her  drawing-room.  The 
very  marked  attention,  too,  which  he  had  of  late 
been  paying  to  her  dear  friend,  had  some  influence 
on  her  mind ;  at  all  events,  Mr.  Gregson  was,  and 
had  been,  the  accustomed  daily  v'sitor  for  upwards 
of  three  weeks;  the  lady  of  the  house  being  no 
way  -behind  the  others  in  kindness  of  welcome. 

"  Well,  Browne,  what  do  you  think,"  said  she, 
one  morning  in  the  fifth  week  of  their  marriage, 
"  of  Rebecca's  and  Mr.  Gregson's  prodigious 
civility  to  each  other  ?  " 

"  I  think,"  replied  he,  "  that  Gregson  has  made 
proposals  to  her." 

"  Has  made!  "  returned  the  lady. 

*'  Yes,"  replied  he,  "  that  he  made  proposals 
this  very  morning:  he  told  me  he  should." 

"  I  ought  not  to  be  surprised,  perhaps,"  said 
she;  "  and  yet  I  must  confess  that  I  am,  for, 
someway,  I  always  expected  that  Rebecca  would 
marry  a  man  of  refinement — a  real  gentleman." 

"  He  is  a  good  fellow,"  returned  Browne,  "  and 
I  am  sure  he  is  not  disagreeable  to  Rebecca." 

After  this  little  conversation,  Mrs.  Bro^vne 
hastened  to  her  friend,  and,  according  to  their  ovm. 
phraseology,  "  threw  herself  into  her  arms,  and 
received  into  her  faithful  bosom  the  secret  of  her 
soul." 


40  ANOTHER    WEDDINO 

Rebecca  Wells  did  not  quarrel  with  her  fate, 
because  it  had  given  her  a  lover  who  was  con- 
nected with  trade.  Gregson  was  a  man  whom  it 
was  easy  lor  her  to  love ;  and  the  happiness  and 
satisfaction  she  evinced,  was  infectious  through 
the  household.  All  the  old  sentimentality  was 
more  than  renewed,  and  the  two  ladies  vowed, 
again  and  again,  "  eternal  friendship,"  and  be- 
lieved themselves  favourites  of  the  gods. 

Rebecca's  visit  was  prolonged  ^four  months,  and 
then  she  returned  home  only  to  make  preparations 
for  her  wedding,  and  to  be  married  from  the  house 
of  her  step-fathei. 

In  less  than  six  months  from  the  day  of  Sarah 
Gibson's  marriage,  she  was,  one  certain  evening 
in  February,  taking  a  general  oversight  of  the 
arrangements  of  everything,  from  garret  to  cellar, 
in  the  comfortable  and  well-furnished,  though  old- 
fashioned  house  in  Bridge-street,  preparatory  to 
the  arrival  of  the  bride.  Her  own  and  her  hus- 
band's presents  of  the  silver  tea  and  coffee  pots, 
were  placed  on  a  conspicuous  shelf  of  the  parlour 
cupboard,  with  the  neatly-folded  three-cornered 
billet  of  congratulation ;  and  her  mind  was  all  a 
flutter  of  the  most  extravagant  and  uncalled-for 
devotion  of  friendship.  "  She  could  defy  now," 
she  said  to  herself,  "  all  the  purse-proud,  aristo- 
cratic people,  who  held  themselves  as  too  select 
and  elevated  to  visit  with  her — she  defied  and 
despised  rank — there  was  nothing  in  all  the  world 
like  love  and  friendship — a  dry  crust  with  a  friend 
was  better  than  a  feast  with  those  who  were  in- 
different to  her.  She  loved  her  Elvira  better 
than  all  the  world,  with  the  exception  of  Iver  deaf 


AN    ACT    OF    FRIENDSHIP.  41 

Browne.  Gregson,"  she  said,  "  was  a  fine,  manly 
fellow,  worthy  of  her  friend — she  was  proud  ol 
them,  and  she  would  show  all  the  world  she  was 
so ;  and  that,  although  he  was  a  cheese-factor,  yet 
that  she  considered  him  a  gentleman  for  all  that!  " 
She  was  quite  heroic  in  her  friendship,  and  re- 
joiced that  there  was  something  which  demanded 
a  sacrifice  on  her  part,  which  would  prove  the 
strength  of  her  attachment. 

The  bride  came.  The  bells  that  had  rung  a 
merry  peal  to  welcome  Mr.  Browne  and  his  wife, 
sent  forth  their  metallic  voices  with  a  no  less 
merry  welcome,  announcing  to  all  the  gossips  of 
Woodburn,  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gregson  had 
arrived.  Scarcely  had  the  Gregsons  time  to  cast 
their  eyes  round  the  sitting-room,  in  the  cupboard 
of  which  they  found  their  friends'  presents,  and 
read  the  note  that  accompanied  them,  when  Mrs. 
Browjie  made  her  appearance,  "  being  impatient," 
she  said,  "  to  welcome  her  dear  friend  to  her  new 
home,  and  to  prove  the  intense  delight  she  felt  in 
witnessing  her  happiness." 


CHAPTER   V. 

AN    ACT    OF    FRIENDSHIP. 

The  same  set  that  had  visited  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Browne,  visited  also  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gregson.  The 
two  young  wives  dealt  at  the  same  shops,  and 
invariably  went  shopping  together;  and,  by  the 
same  rule,  Mrs.  Browne  always  looked  in  on  !Mrs. 
Gregson  every  Wednesday  morning,  the  first  thing 
after   breakfast,  on  her  way  to  the  market,  and 


42  AN    ACT    OF    FRIENDSHIP. 

always  found  Mrs.  Gregson,  bonnetted  and  shawled, 

waiting  for  her;  and  the  two,  followed  by  their 
respective  maid-servants,  basket  in  hand,  pro- 
gressed slowly  in  the  market,  making  purchases; 
and  then  down  again  in  their  way  to  the  shambles, 
only  deviating  from  each  other  in  their  respective 
purchases,  so  as  to  suit  their  husbands'  tastes. 
Gregson  preferred  gooseberry  tart  to  currant; 
Browne  vice  versa.  Browne  would  not  give  a  fig 
for  new  potatoes,  when  he  could  get  pease ;  Greg- 
son said,  that  potatoes,  the  year  round,  were  bettei 
than  pease,  unless  eaten  to  ducks ;  so,  unless  Mrs. 
Gregson  bought  ducks,  ten  to  one  she  would 
purchase  potatoes,  while  her  friend  purchased 
pease  to  lamb,  or  veal,  or  anything  else,  and 
so  on:  an  amiable  difference  this,  which  just  pre- 
vented the  unanimity  and  uniformity  of  the  two 
friends  growing  insipid.  There  was  a  story,  how- 
ever, current  in  Woodburn,  but,  whether  true  or 
false,  we  cannot  vouch,  of  the  two  young  wives 
having,  in  the  beginning  of  their  career,  insisted 
upon  the  tables  of  their  respective  houses  being 
furnished  with  precisely  the  same  dishes  as  the 
other,  thoughout  the  year;  and  that  a  vigorous 
rebeillon  on  the  part  of  the  two  husbands  ensued, 
in  which  the  stronger  powers  had  the  victory,  as 
was  only  right  in  this  case,  seeing  plain  good 
sense  was  on  their  side;  and  that,  henceforward, 
the  two  ladies  agreed  to  make  the  needful  differ- 
ence in  their  husbands'  tastes,  an  additional  bond 
of  amity  between  themselves. 

In  the  important  business  of  dress  also,  the  two 
husbands  exercised  a  salutary  influence.  It  was 
all  very  well,  while  the  one  lived  at  Gloucester, 


AN    ACT    OF    FRIENDSHIP.  43 

ind  the  other  in  Craven,  and  they  had  nohody  to 
please  but  themselves,  that  they  should  both  dress 
alike — that  both  should  wear  the  green  silk  pelisse, 
and  the  chip  hat,  trimmed  with  green  gauze — both 
wear  the  blue  silk,  and  the  garnet  necklaces — the 
canary-coloured  chambray,  or  the  lavender  Nor- 
wich-crape. They  did  not  think  that  what  suited 
the  one,  might  not  suit  the  other;  for  i\Iiss  Gibson 
was  dark  and  florid,  while  Miss  Wells  was  fair 
and  pale ;  but  they  were  satisfied  with  a  reflec- 
tion, in  their  eyes  far  superior  to  mere  taste,  that, 
at  one  and  the  same  time,  both  might  be  walking 
out  in  green  pelisses,  and  with  gauze  upon  their 
chip  hats  ;  or,  seeing  company  in  blue  silk,  canarj'- 
coloured  poplin,  or  lavender  Norwich-crape  ;  but, 
now  that  they  had  the  felicity  of  being  dwellers  in 
the  same  town,  this  monotony  of  taste  was  some- 
what interrupted ;  and  beneficially  too,  by  the 
respective  husbands.  Gregson  could  not  bear 
to  see  his  wife  in  green ;  "  it  might  suit  Mrs. 
Browne,"  he  said,  "  but  it  did  not  suit  her."  He 
liked  white  muslin,  and  pink  ribbons ;  and  he 
declared  his  wife  never  looked  so  well  as  in  the 
peach-blossom  taflety  he  brought  her  from  Not- 
tingham goose-fair,  where  he  had  gone  to  buy 
cheese,  the  first  autumn  after  their  marriage, 
Browne,  on  the  contrary,  had  an  exclusive  pre- 
ference for  all  rich  dark  colours,  clear  greens, 
maroons,  purpl^es,  and  even  black.  He  gave  his 
wife  five  guineas  to  buy  a  dark-blue  satin,  and  de- 
clared that,  as  soon  as  he  could  afibrd  it,  she 
should  have  a  crimson  velvet. 

In  this  way,  with  these  permitted  difi^erences, 
tverything  went  on  in  the  most  amicable  manner 


44  AN    ACT    OF    FRIENDSHIP, 

possible.  On  Sundays  they  called  at  eacb  other's 
houses  after  church,  and  sate  an  hour  or  two 
together,  unlqiss,  as  it  happened  now  and  then, 
they  both  chanced  to  be  knocking  at  each  other's 
doors  at  the  same  moment,  having  missed  as  they 
came  out  of  church;  in  which  case,  they  would 
both  wait,  the  one  for  the  other,  till  their  patience 
was  fairly  worn  out,  and  then  have  a  chance  of 
meeting  midway  in  the  street.  In  the  course  of 
the  first  year,  however,  Browne,  who,  like  most 
professional  gentlemen,  was  but  in  indifferent 
church-goer,  fell,  in  this  respect,  into  his  former 
bachelor-habits,  and  was  generally  deep  in  his 
papers,  in  his  undress,  when  his  neighbours  were 
all  wending  their  way  to  church.  To  save  "  dear 
Mrs.  Browne,"  therefore,  the  ignominy  of  going 
to  church  all  alone,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gregson  took 
the  lawyer's  house  in  their  way ;  which  was  easy 
for  them  to  do,  seeing  it  was  in  Church-street,  and 
escorted  his  wife  to  the  very  pew-door.  It  was, 
no  doubt,  a  very  edifying  sight  to  all  the  world  of 
Woodburn,  to  witness  this  friendship  between  the 
two  houses.  Many  people,  the  middle-aged  espe- 
cially, declared  it  could  not  last;  that  excess 
always  led  to  its  own  destruction,  and  that  it  was 
quite  possible  to  have  too  much  even  of  a  good 
thing,  and  so  on — illustrating  their  arguments  by 
established  truisms,  as  middle-aged  people  are 
very  apt  to  do.  Others  again,  who  might  be  dis- 
posed to  visit  with  the  Brownes,  but  who  **  cared 
not  a  button  about  the  Gregsons,''  asserted  this 
domestic  alliance  to  be  foolish  and  ridiculous, 
**  for  how,"  said  they,  "  could  one  spend  even  a». 
evening  with  them,  without  being  dragged  inta 


AN    ACT    OF    FRIENDSHIP.  4fl 

an  acquaintance  with  their  friends?"  And  those 
who  were  similarly  disposed  towards  the  Gregsons, 
made  precisely  the  same  complaint. 

*'  I  like  Gregson,"  some  good,  respectable 
father  of  a  family  would  say ;  "  I  have  known 
him  ever  since  a  boy.  I  like  his  wife  very  well 
too ;  but  I've  no  notion  of  being  compelled  into 
civility  to  that  fellow  Browne.  I  saw  too  much 
of  him  when  he  lost  me  my  cause  !" 

All  this,  however,  mattered  very  little  to  the 
allied  houses  themselves.  "  The  Miranda  and 
£lvira  friendship"  was  in  no  danger  of  being 
weakened  by  anything  which  the  "  well-fed  wits" 
of  "Woodburn  could  say ;  and  so  we  wilj  leave 
'*  the  everlasting  friendship,"  to  talk  of  other 
matters. 

The  fates  had  decreed  Mr.  Browne  to  be  the 
great  man  of  a  little  town ;  the  elements  of  such 
greatness  were  in  him,  and  his  wife  was  a  fitting 
helpmate.  But  in  life,  as  in  the  common  every- 
day affair  of  climbing  a  wall,  a  person,  however 
he  may  be  destined  to  clim.b,  often  needs  a  shove 
upwards — a  helping  hand,  just  to  reach  that  par- 
ticular crack,  in  which  the  toe  may  be  insinuated, 
and  then  he  will  make  the  ascent  triumphantly 
by  himself.  It  was  just  so  with  James  Browne. 
He  kept  his  eye  fixed  on  the  top  of  the  wall;  he 
meant  to  climl3  it  long  enough  before  he  was  an 
old  man.  He  only  waited  now  for  the  shove 
upwards;  in  other  words,  he  was  poor — that  is, 
he  was  poor  for  a  lawyer. 

"VN'hen  he  married  Miss  Gibson,  the  only  daughter 
of  the  rich  grocer  of  Gloucester,  he  expected  that 
her  large  fortune  would  raise  him  at  once.     She 


46  AN    ACT    OF    FRIENDSHIP. 

received,  however,  only  one  thousand  pounds  as 
her  marriage  portion,  and  that  would  do  no  more 
than  pay  certain  furniture  bills,  and  keep  ali 
straight  and  handsome  till  other  money  came  in, 
or  till  the  old  gentleman  died. 

The  whispered  surmise  among  the  Gloucester 
people,  that  old  Gibson  was  not  as  rich  as  had 
been  imagined,  was,  within  the  first  year  of  his 
daughter's  marriage,  proved  to  be  the  fact.  He 
died;  and,  after  all  borrowed  monies  and  debts 
were  paid,  between  three  and  four  hundred  pounds 
alone  remained,  even  though  Samford,  now  married 
to  Miss  Jemima  Warwick,  had  paid  a  considerable 
sum  for  the  good-will  of  the  business,  only  a  few 
weeks  before  the  old  gentleman's  death.  It  was  a 
terrible  surprise  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browne;  and 
Samford  was  charged  by  him  with  embezzlement* 
and  all  kind  of  malpractices.  Samford  brought 
an  action  for  defamation  against  Browne,  and  made 
public  the  state  of  the  old  tradesman's  books ;  by 
which  he  most  clearly  proved,  that  he  had  not 
only  honestly  served  his  employer,  but  actually 
saved  the  concern  from  bankruptcy.  He  came 
off  not  only  triumphantly,  as  far  as  his  character 
went,  but  with  fifty  pounds  damages. 

All  this  was  the  most  galling  thing  that  could 
happen  to  the  Brown  es.  It  was  like  publishing 
to  the  whole  world  the  meagreness  of  the  lady's* 
fortune,  as  well  as  her  exact  connexion  with 
trade ;  and,  as  the  lawyer  himself  was  known  not 
to  be  rich,  nor  to  have  either  a  rich  or  an  exten- 
sive practice,  nothing  could  be  easier  than  U* 
calculate  what  might  be  the  amount  of  his  income 

"  The  very  children  of  Woodburn,  who  have 


AN    ACT    OF    FRIENDSHIP.  47 

the  least  turn  for  figures,  may  cast  up,  on  their 
fingers,  how  much  I  am  exactly  worth!"  Such  was 
Mr.  Browne's  unpleasant  observation  one  certain 
Saturday  evening  to  his  wife,  who  was  sitting  with 
him,  and  who  was  looking  no  better  pleased 
than  he. 

"  But,  my  dear,"  said  she,  "  sinking  under  one's 
misfortunes  does  no  good!  Rise  we  must,  by 
some  means — that's  certain!" 

*'  But  the  deuce  of  it  is,"  said  Ler  husband, 
"  that  all  this  has  been  made  so  public! — why, 
old  Mordan  fairly  laughed  in  my  face  to-day ! — 
and  there's  an  end  of  our  getting  the  house  in 
Wilton- street." 

Wilton-street,  our  readers  must  know,  was  the 
St.  James's  of  Woodburn;  and  the  house  of  which 
Mr.  Browne  now  spoke,  was  one  of  the  aristocratic 
houses  of  the  place — none  but  such  people,  and 
people  of  family,  had  hitherto  lived  in  it ;  and  to 
live  in  it  would  alone  confer  some  degree  of 
distinction.  It  had  now  been  vacant  six  months, 
and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brown  had,  during  that  time, 
been  casting  longing  looks  towards  it.  Imme- 
diately on  the  death  of  I\Ir.  Gibson,  before  the 
disastrous  state  of  his  affairs  was  known,  they 
resolved  to  have  it,  and  had  even  entered  into 
negotiation  with  the  landlord  for  a  long  lease ;  had 
given  notice  to  leave  their  humbler  house  in 
Church-street,  and  thus  made  it  known  to  all  the 
town.  It  was,  therefore,  a  most  mortifying  thing, 
not  only  to  hear  the  whole  town  ridiculing  the 
defeated  lawyer  in  his  suit  with  Samford,  but  also 
to  know  that  all  ideas  of  inhabiting  the  great  house 
must   be  given   up,   and  that  for  reasons  which 


48  AN    ACT    OF    FRIENDSHIP. 

everybody  must  understand — the  most  unpleasan* 
reasons  of  all — the  not  being  able  to  afford  it" 

"  I  wish  to  Heaven  the  house  had  never  been 
to  let!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Browne. 

"  Or  that  we  had  never  said  a  word  about  it  to 
any  creature,"  added  her  husband 

**  I  never  spoke  of  it  to  any  living  soul,  ex- 
cepting dear  Rebecca,"  said  Mrs.  Browne;  "and 
you  know  she  and  Gregson  are  only  like  part  of 
our  own  family." 

"  It  was  known  all  over  Woodburn,  the  first 
day  we  spoke  of  it,"  returned  he ;  "  people  con- 
gratulated me  on  the  removal :  it  would  be  the 
establishing  me  at  once,  everv'body  said :  and  that 
small  house  adjoining  would  be  turned  into  offices 
at  such  a  small  expense!"  Mr.  Browne  became 
quite  agitated  as  he  thought  of  all  these  desirable 
considerations  which  must  now,  prudence  argued, 
be  given  up. 

"  James,  dear,"  said  his  wife,  "  if  it  really  would 
do  you  so  much  good  in  your  profession,  to  live  in 
a  better  house,  and  in  a  better  style,  why  not  do 
it,  as  a  matter  of  simple  policy  ?  It  would  be 
worth  while  even  to  borrow  the  money  for  such  a 
purpose — it  would  soon  clear  itself  off,  you  know. 
And  now  I  have  said  so  much,  I  will  make  one 
confession  which  I  never  made  before,  not  even 
to  Rebecca.  I  was  surprised  at  first  to  find  you 
living  in  such  a  third-rate  house  as  this.  Eveiy- 
body  knows  that  people  are  looked  upon  just  as 
they  seem  to  estimate  themselves.  You  may  de- 
pend upon  it,  James,  modesty  and  timidity  are  the 
iurest  preventions  to  a  man's  success  in  life.  It 
seems/'  continued  she,  getting  quite  warm  in  her 


AN    ACT    OF    FRIENDSHIP.  49 

argument,  "as  if  you  thought  yourself  a  very 
third-rate  sort  of  lawyer,  to  live  in  such  a  house  as 
this!  I  really  do  not  wonder  that  nobody  visited 
us ;  and,  what  we  should  have  dene  without 
Gregson  and  Rebecca,  I'm  sure  I  don't  know." 

"  It  is  all  true — every  word — there's  no  doubt 
of  it,"  replied  Browne;  "  but  then,  what  can 
a  man  do  more  than  he  can  ?  It  was  a  bold  stroke, 
let  me  tell  you,  for  me  at  first  to  take  even 
this  house.  I  furnished  my  office  handsomely, 
and  managed  any  way  in  the  house,  for  not  a  soul 
came  near  me  but  Gregson;  and  I  declare,  that 
the  handsome  Brussels  carpet,  and  my  smart 
fender  and  iire-irons,  and  my  new  desks,  and 
my  clerk,  who,  because  he  had  nothing  to  do,  I 
set  to  engross  an  old  act  of  parliament,  in  order 
that  he  might  look  busy,  set  me  up  at  once. 
There's  a  deal  in  what  you  say;  we  must  give  the 
world  its  due  for  their  estimate  of  us." 

"And  that  always  is,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Browne, 
"  according  to  the  show  we  make;  for  the  world 
dearly  loves  to  be  dazzled,"  said  she,  laughing. 

"  I  do  believe,"  said  jVIr.  Browne,  "  that,  if 
we  could  get  that  house  in  Wilton-street,  and 
look  decidedly  prosperous,  I  might  command 
half  the  county  business:  just  give  me  a  start, 
and  I  would  snap  my  fingers  any  day  at  Peake 
and  iSIordan,  although  Mordan  laughed  in  my  face! 
I  declare  I  could  have  knocked  the  fellow  down!" 

"  It  was  unpardonable,"  returned  his  wife; 
"  but  I  tell  you  what,  James,  we  really  must  take 
this  house;  we  must  manage  it  some  way.  Have 
you  no  means  of  raising  the  money?  It  would 
•con  be  cleared  off  again,  you  know." 


50  AN    ACT    OF    FRIENDSHIP. 

Browne  knit  his  brows,  glanced  up  to  the  comef 
of  the  room,  and  declared  that  he  could  think  of 
no  other  way  than  asking  Gregson.  Gregson  had 
plenty  of  money,  he  said ;  old  Gregson  was  rich, 
and  his  son  had  been  making  money  since  he  was 
onc-and-twenty  ;  he  dared  to  say  he  would  lend 
liim  some. 

*'  That  he  will,"  exclaimed  his  wife — "  I  am 
sure  he  will;  for  he  is  a  sensible  man,  and  very 
much  your  friend;  and,  even  if  he  were  to  make 
any  difficulty  about  it,  Rebecca  would  persuade 
him ;  she  would  do  anything  in  the  world  for  me!" 

It  was  now,  therefore,  decided  that  no  stop 
whatever  should  be  put  to  the  negotiation  re- 
specting the  good  house  in  Wilton-street.  The 
world  of  Woodburn  should  see,  they  said,  that, 
although  Mr.  Gibson  had  not  died  rich,  and 
although  Browne  had  lost  his  suit  with  Samford, 
yet,  that  these  things  could  not  affect  circumstances 
so  flourishing  as  his.  He  could  afford,  in  the 
very  face  of  a  loss,  to  take  a  large  house  and  live 
handsomely;  the  inference,  therefore,  must  be,  that 
his  profession  alone  was  making  a  handsome 
present  income. 

Gregson,  although  he  was  not  much  addicted  to 
lending  money,  made  no  more  objection  than 
even  good-natured  men  commonly  make  on  lend- 
ing a  thousand  pounds;  which  was  the  sum  his 
friend  requested  from  him.  He  said  something 
about  sureties  ;  on  which  Browne  declared  that 
sureties  were  out  of  the  question  ;  and  if  his  friend 
were  not  satisfied  with  his  own  bond,  he  would 
at  once  drop  the  idea,  give  up  the  house  in 
Wilton-street,  and  stay  where  he  was,  although  it 


AN    ACT    OF    FRIENDSHIP.  51 

was  so  seriously  against  his  interest  to  do  so: 
that  he  was  sorry  he  had  asked  the  favour  from 
anybody,  because,  although  Mr.  Gibson's  death, 
contrary  to  expectation,  had  produced  next  to 
nothing,  in  one  other  year's  time  his  own  pro- 
fessional returns  would  have  enabled  him  to 
make  the  removal  on  his  own  resources,  without 
thanks  to  anybody;  only  by  that  time  the  house 
in  Wilton-street  would  have  been  let,  fur  such 
houses  as  that  seldom  remained  long  \n  the 
market.  At  this  stage  of  the  business  Mrs.  Greg- 
son  came  into  the  room;  she  knew  the  subject 
upon  which  her  husband  and  Browne  were  talking, 
for  she  had  been  plied  on  the  same  subject  by 
Mrs.  Browne;  and  she  was  even  now  returned 
home,  full  of  the  enthusiasm  of  friendship,  im- 
patient even  to  make  a  sacrifice  for  her  dear 
Mrs.  Browne's  sake;  "  and  especially,"  said  she, 
*'  at  a  moment  so  interesting  to  us  all;  for  I  have 
set  my  mind  on  Sarah's  child  being  born  in 
Wilton-street.  It  is  a  dreary  house,  that  of  your's, 
Mr.  Browne, in  Church -street;  I  am  sure  I  would 
not  have  said  as  much  before ;  but  it  is  not  exactly 
the  right  home  either  for  you  or  dear  Sarah! 
And  I  am  sure,"  continued  she,  "  that  if  either  I 
or  Gregson  could  do  anything  for  you,  even  at  a 
sacrifice  of  our  own  advantage,  we  ought  to  do  it, 
seeing  how  much  we  owe  to  you :  but  th.ere  really 
would  be  no  sacrifice  required  from  us ;  you 
would  be  able  to  pay  us  back  the  money  in  twelve 
months,  for  I  am  quite  sure,  when  people  see  you 
living  in  that  good  house,  and  making  such  a 
dash,  they  will  think  ten  times  as  well  of  you,  and 
think  you  have  twenty  times  the  business  you  have." 


62  AN    ACT    OF    FRIENDSHIP. 

There  were  two  particulars  in  this  fluent  speech, 
which  fixed  the  attention  of  Mr.  Gregson :  his 
wife  said  they  were  under  such  obligations  to  the 
Brownes :  he  wondered  what  all  those  obligations 
were,  but  he  did  not  inquire,  of  course ;  the  other 
was,  that  if  their  friends  seemed  to  be  prosperous, 
the  world  would  help  to  make  them  so,  and 
speedily  enable  them  to  return  the  money.  He 
liked  Browne,  reasoned  he  with  himself,  and  their 
wives  were  old  friends ;  he  himself  had  money 
lying  unemployed  in  the  bank,  which  was  paying 
but  light  interest;  Browne  offered  him  five  per 
cent. ;  there  could  not,  surely,  be  any  great  ob- 
jection to  lending  it.   In  short,  he  yielded. 

One  thousand  pounds  was  drawn  out  of  the 
county  bank,  and  handed  over  to  Browne.  A 
note  of  hand  was  duly  made  out  and  signed,  and 
given  in  exchange. 

The  same  evening,  the  lease  for  the  great  house 
in  Wilton-street  was  signed  and  witnessed.  The 
next  morning,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browne  were  seen 
by  some  of  their  new  neighbours  elect,  to  enter 
the  house  like  people  greatly  pleased  with  pos- 
session; and,  in  the  course  of  the  day,  white- 
washing and  cleaning  began,  and  great  knock- 
ings  were  heard  in  the  adjoining  small  dwelling, 
which  intimated  that  workmen  had  already 
commenced  turning  the  house  into  offices,  for 
him  and  his  clerks,  in  readiness  for  the  county 
business,  Avhich  was  to  find  its  way  there.  His 
old  masters,  Peake  and  Mordan,  lifted  up  theif 
eyebrows,  and  looked  knowingly  out  of  the 
corners  of  their  eyes,  as  if  to  intimate,  that  shrewd 
people  like  themselves  knew  what  the  end  of  all 


THE    FAMILY    COMPACT.  55 

this  would  be ;  and  all  the  little  town  of  Wood- 
burn  blessed  itself  that  it  had  so  fertile  a  topic  of 
gossipry  as  the  removal  of  lawyer  Browne  out  of 
Church-street  i^^to  the  great  house  in  Wilton-street. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    FAMILY    COMPACT. 

If  you  would  wish  apersonto  profess  hir/i self  bound 
to  you  by  "  an  eternal  debt  cf  gratitude,"  lend  him 
the  money  he  wants  at  the  very  moment  he  asks  for 
it;  in  short,  do  as  Gregson  did.  Whether  your 
friend  will  not  consider  the  eternal  debt  of  grati- 
tude cancelled  by  the  first  hint  about  the  repay- 
ment of  the  money,  is  quite  another  thing:  that  is 
in  the  second  stage  of  the  business;  we  are  only 
yet  in  the  first;  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browne,  there- 
fore, not  only  professed,  but  sincerely  believed, 
that  no  other  creature  living  would  have  done  so 
much  for  them.  Mr.  Gregson  was,  therefore, 
without  exception,  the  most  generous  and  noble 
of  friends,  and,  to  the  latest  day  of  their  lives  they 
should  never  forget  his  kindness  ;  and  that  it  was 
owing  also,  in  part,  to  "  dear  Rebecca,"  whom 
Mrs.  Browne  declared  "  she  had  doted  on  ever 
since  the  day  when  she  first  set  eyes  on  her  at 
Miss  Wyndham's  school" 

With  such  energetic  sentiments  of  gratitude, 
therefore,  how  could  they  better  prove  their  sin- 
cerity than  by  employing  the  money  splendidly  in 
the  purpose  for  which  it  was  lent.  '*  Everybody 
knows  the  intimate  terms  on  which  t^  two  houses 
•re,  and  therefore,"  said  Mrs.  Biowne,  with  en- 


64l  THE    FAMILY    COMPACT. 

thusiasm,  *'  as  we  rise  in  society,  as  we  unques- 
tionably must  do  in  Wilton-street,  our  friends 
shall  rise  with  us.  I  shall  be  proud  to  introduce 
dear  Rebecca  everywhere.  She  is  very  genteel — 
don't  you  think  her  so,  Browne?" 

"  Yes,  certainly,"  returned  her  husband. 

"  And  I'll  tell  you  what  we  must  certainly  do," 
continued  she;  "  it  will  be  such  a  handosme  way 
of  showing  our  respect  to  them  ;  she  and  Mr.  Greg- 
son  must  be  sponsors  for  our  little  one  :  they  must 
indeed  !  You  must  drop  your  idea  of  your  uncle 
and  aunt — they  will  never  do  anything  for  us ; 
and  you  know  I  said  all  along  that  Rebecca  would 
expect  it.  And,  another  thing,"  exclaimed  she, 
growing  quite  animated  on  the  subject  of  her 
gratitude,  "  our  first  boy  and  girl  shall  be  brought 
up  for  each  other — shall  be  educated  for  each 
other — you  know  they  do  so  in  some  foreign 
countries,  and  among  the  Moravians,  and  it 
answers  uncommonly  well.  It  is  a  beautiful 
notion — two  sweet  children  betrothed  in  infancy! 
Rebecca  and  I  have  often  and  often  talked  of  it — 
and  it  will  be  such  a  delightful  bond  between  us.  I 
am  quite  charmed  with  the  idea — the  children 
shall  be  plighted  in  their  very  cradles!" 

Mr.  Browne  smiled  at  his  wife's  enthusiasm, 
and  declared  he  should  be  quite  as  ready  as  her- 
self to  prove  his  sense  of  the  obligation ;  and  that 
he  certainly  did  think  the  Gregsons  ought  to  be 
preferred  to  his  uncle  and  aunt,  as  sponsors  for 
the  child. 

"  Well,  after  all,"  said  the  people  of  Wood- 
burn,  when  they  saw  how  handsomely  furnished 
and  prosperous-looking  was  Mr.  Browne's  new 


THE    FAMILY    COMPACT.  55 

house  in  Wilton-street,  "  there  must  be  some 
mistake  about  the  insolvency  of  Mr.  Gibson. 
Mrs.  Browne  must  have  had  some  fortune,  and 
not  a  small  fortune  either,  to  enable  them  to  make 
such  an  alteration  in  their  way  of  living." 

"  Depend  upon  it,"  said  •)ne,  "  he  is  getting  on 
in  his  profession;  everybody  who  has  employed 
him  says  that  he  is  a  long-headed  fellow :  how 
cleverly  he  managed  the  cause  for  the  parishioners 
of  Wellby,  against  Sir  George  Combe,  about 
stopping  the  Wellby-road!" 

"  He  is  just  the  man  to  get  on,"  said  a  second; 
"  he  has  no  objection  to  tnake  a  little  business 
for  himself  occasionally." 

"  But,"  argued  a  third,  "  this  everybody  must 
confess,  that,  unlike  Peake  and  Mordan,  you  have 
some  chance  with  him  of  getting  to  the  end  of  a 
job.  They  have  sadly  too  much  to  do;  and,  to 
tell  you  the  truth,  I  have  serious  thoughts  of 
employing  him  in  all  my  lesser  business ;  Peake 
and  Mordan  seem  so  careless  about  minor  things  " 

"  Ha!  that  reminds  me,"  said  a  fourth  speaker— 
*'  Browne's  landlord,  Mr.  Willis,  has  already  trans- 
ferred his  business  to  him :  there  has  been  quite  a 
scene  between  Willis  and  his  old  lawyers — some- 
thing about  a  deed  that  was  .missing.  Browne 
was,  you  know,  in  Peake  and  ]\Iordan's  office, 
and  helped  their  memory  as  to  the  hiding-place 
of  this  said  parchment." 

'^  Indeed!  "  exclaimed  another,  "  that  will  be  a 
capital  thing  for  Browne,  for  Willis  can  throw  a 
vast  of  business  into  his  hands ;  no  one  more ! " 

Such  was  a  conversation  which  took  place 
between  a  knot  of  Woodburu  gentlemen,  as  they 


66  THE    FAMILY    COMPACT. 

stood  together  upon  the  bowling-green  of  the 
Red  Lion  »Inn,  about  three  months  after  the 
Brownes'  removal  to  Wilton-street. 

About  the  same  time,  three  ladies — two  spin- 
sters— Miss  Carr  and  Miss  Bensley,  and  old  Mrs. 
Porter,  who  were  waiting  tlie  arrival  of  a  fourth, 
to  make  up  a  rubber  at  whist,  held  a  conversation 
also  on  this  favourite  topic. 

"  Did  you  see  j\Irs.  Browne  at  church  on  Sun- 
day?" asked  Mrs.  Porter. 

'*  No,"  replied  both  ladies.  "  But,"  said  Miss 
Bensley,  "  I've  heard  that  she  was  prodigiously 
grand." 

'*  Really,"  said  ]\Irs.  Porter,  "  all  eyes  were 
turned '  on  her.  She  was  in  maroon-coloured 
velvet,  with  three  such  feathers  in  her  hat,  as  1 
never  saw  in  my  life ;  and,  upon  my  word,  she 
looked  quite  handsome?" 

"  I've  heard  gentlemen  say,"  remarked  Miss 
Carr,  "  that  she  is  handsome,  but,  for  my  part,  I 
never  admired  her!" 

"How  in  the  world!"  asked  Miss  Bensley, 
'*  have  they  made  such  a  start  all  at  once?  They 
say  she  had  no  fortune;  her  father  was  onl,v  a 
grocer,  you  know,  and  a  bankrupt,  somebody 
said;  and,  as  to  his  profession,  it's  ridiculous  to 
think  of  its-producing  him  such  an  income!" 

"  I  am  sure  I  do  not  know  how  it  is,"  replied 
Mrs.  Porter,  "  but  they  seem  prodigiously  well  off." 

"  They  cannot  be  living  under  a  thousand  a 
year,"  said  Miss  Carr.  "  I  should  think  they 
will  drop  those  everlasting  Gregsons  now,"  said 
she,  laughing.  "  How  ridiculous  they  make  them- 
selves I" 


THE    FAMILY    COMPACT.  57 

**  At  all  events,"  said  Mrs.  Porter,  "  they  can- 
not be  charged  with  forgetting  their  friends  as 
soon  as  they  begin  to  hold  'jp  their  heads  in  the 
"vvorld ! '' 

"  Did  you  hear  of  the  christening,  ladies?" 
inquired  Miss  Carr;  *'  it  was  absolutely  absurd!" 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Porter;  *'  nor  have  I  seen  the 
baby,  but  they  ttll  me  it  is  a  beautiful  child." 

Yes,"  returned  Miss  Carr,  "  the  child  is  well 
enough — but  such  a  christening!  Mr.  Wilford 
told  me  about  it — he  was  at  the  dJianer,  and  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Gregson  were  the  sponsors.  Such  ridi- 
culous folly,  he  said,  he  never  witnessed — such 
kissing  and  crying — the  ladies  embracing — and, 
la!  I  don't  know  what — like  a  couple  of  senti- 
mental school-misses — and  Mr. Wilford,  you  know, 
is  not  a  person  to  exaggerate." 

"  Well,  that  is  absurd!  "  remarked  Miss  Bensley. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  kept  you  waiting,  ladies," 
said  Mrs.  Robinson,  laying  down  her  bonnet,  and 
taking  the  vacant  chair;  "but  I  just  met  with 
Mrs.  and  the  Misses  Jennings,  and  they  insisted  on 
my  walking  in,  for  they  had  been  to  call  on  Mrs. 
Browne  this  morning,  and  they  wanted  to  tell  me 
all  about  it," 

*'  La  !  "  exclaimed  the  three  ladies  at  once  "have 
the  Jenningses  been  to  call  on  the  Brownes?" 

"  Yes,  indeed!"  returned  Mrs.  Robinson. 

"  Upon  my  word!"  ejaculated  Miss  Carr. 

"  And  what  did  they  tell  you  ? "  asked  Miss 
Bensley. 

*'  Oh,  everything  was  exquisite,"  returned  she, 
laughing;    "  and  Mrs.  Browne  was  in  apple-pie 


58  THE   FAMILY    COMPACT. 

order; — but  would  you  believe  it! — Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Sykes  Willoughby's  card  lay  conspicuously  in  a 
card-basket  on  the  table;  and  j\Irs.  Browne  was 
not  Ion":  before  she  began  to  say,  "  A  charming 
lady  is  Mrs.  Sykes  Willoughby;  they  did  us  the 
honour  to  call  the  other  day ! "  And  then  Mr. 
Browne  came  in,  looking  as  if  his  head  was  full 
of  law-business,  and  morning-callers  were  the  last 
thing  in  his  head;  but  you  know,  of  course,  he 
had  been  sent  for;  and  presently  he  dragged  in 
"  my  excellent  friend,  ]\Ir.  Sykes  Willoughby;  he 
and  his  lady  did  us  the  honour.to  call  the  other 
dav!"  while  poor  Mrs.  Browne  looked  ready  to 
die,  for  this  spoiled  it  all,  you  know;  and  he  was 
such  a  fool  that,  although  she  kept  frowning  at 
him,  he  would  not  understand  her  looks.  It  was 
infinitely  ridiculous !  "  said  she,  laughing;  "  if  you 
had  but  seen  Harriet  Jennings  mimickin-g  them, 
you  would  have  died  wii'h  laughter!" 

"  But  what  in  the  world  made  the  Jenningses  call 
on  them  ?  "  asked  Miss  Carr ;  "  and  I  declare  I  will 
make  Mr.  Wilford  tell  Harriet  Jennings  all  about 
the  christening,  and  the  embracing  of  mamma 
and  god-mamma ;  it  will  be  just  the  thing  for  her!" 

"  Wonders  never  will  cease,  that's  certain," 
returned  Mrs.  Robinson ;  "  and  so  you  will  all 
say.  Mr.  John  Jennings  was  persuaded  by  Mr. 
Willis  to  put  some  law-business — something  about 
manorial  rights — into  Browne's  hands;  and  they 
say  he  has  managed  the  business  really  cleverly; 
which  so  pleased  Mr.  John  Jennings — for  the 
cause  had  been  tried  three  different  terms,  and  lost 
each  time — that  he  insisted  on  his  mother  .ind 


THE    FAMILY   COMPACT,  59 

sisters  calling  on  Mrs.  Browne ; — you  know  when 
people  live  in  the  same  street,  they  must  be 
neighbourly." 

"  That  is  the  mischief  of  these  little  towns," 
said  Mrs.  Porter. 

"  He  knew  that,"  said  ^liss  Carr,  "  when  he 
went  into  Wilton-street;  for  he  has  an  artful  way 
with  him,  and  ambition  enough  for  a  cardinal!  I 
wish,  however,  that  the  cheese-factor's  kdy  had 
been  there,  when  Mrs.  Jennings  called  I" 

*'  She  ivas  there!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Robinson, 
*'  and  that  made  half  the  joke;  for  there  was  such 
a  ceremony  of  introduction — 'Pray  Mrs.  Jennings, 
allow  me  to  introduce  to  you  my  dear  friend, 
Mrs.  Gregson! — Pray  young  ladies,  let  me  present 
to  you  my  beloved  friend,  Mrs.  Gregson!' — and 
then,  when  Mrs.  Gregson,  who,  by  the  bye,  has 
most  sense  of  the  two,  rose  to  depart,  there  was 
such  a  shaking  of  hands,  and  kissing,  ana  '  ^Vhen 
shall  we  meet  again?'  and  adieus — oh,  it  was 
capital!  It  is  as  good  as  a  comedy,  every  bit,  to 
see  Harriet  Jennings  mimic  Mrs.  Browne!" 

These  two  conversations  fully  explain  the  pro- 
gress of  events.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browne  had  made 
a  bold  stroke  for  fortune,  when  they  removed  into 
Wilton-street.  "  Faint  heart  never  wins  fair  lady," 
had  been  used  as  an  illustration  of  his  theory,  by 
Mr.  Browne  himself;  "  faint  heart  never  wins 
good  fortune;"  and,  sure  enough,  fortune  seemed 
not  indifFerentl.y  well  pleased  by  the  bold  heart  ol 
the  Brownes;  for,  within  six  months  of  the  time 
when  Mr.  Browne  sate  down  in  his  new  private 
room  in  his  new  offices,  no  less  than  three  out  of  the 
twelve  japanned  deed-boxes  which  filled  up  one  end 
6 


CO  THE    FAMILl    COMPACT. 

of  his  office,  were  conspicuously  labelled  in  gold 
letters,  "  John  Jennings,  Esquire ;"  *'  Henry  Willis, 
Esquire ;"  "  Peter  Thomas  Denby,  Esquire."  His 
two  clerks  were  no  longer  set  to  engross  old  acts  of 
parliament,  for  they  had  full  employment;  besides 
which,  he  had  an  articled  clerk  of  his  own — no 
-other  than  the  nephew  of  Peter  Thomas  Denby, 
Esquire;  and  about  his  own  private  room  there 
lay  such  a  satisfactory  litter  of  engrossed  folios, 
red  tape-tied  square  packets  of  parchments,  ani 
other  professional  papers,  that  there  was  no  occa^ 
sion  to  lay  anything  about  for  show;  while  the 
splashes  of  ink  on  the  new  carpet,  and  on  his  new 
green  cloth-covered  table,  gave  evidence  of  work 
being  done  there. 

All  this  was  amazingly  satisfactory;  and  Mr. 
Browne  began  to  hold  his  head  quite  as  high  as 
either  Peake  or  Mordan,  and  to  think,  with  him- 
self, that  he  should  live  to  get  the  best  part  oi 
their  business  out  of  their  hands. 

Mrs.  Browne  was  no  whit  less  gratified  than  her 
husband ;  the  Sykes  Willoughbys,  and  the  Jen- 
ningses,  the  two  great  families  of  the  town  and  the 
neighbourhood,  had  called  upon  her;  true,  the 
intimacy  seemed  to  pause  there;  the  calls  had 
been  punctually  returned,  but  no  invitations  fol- 
lowed, nor  in  the  course  of  three  months  had  the 
calls  been  repeated.  Mrs.  Browne,  therefore,  was 
fain  to  make  use  of  one  call,  and  one  set  of  cards, 
and  to  hope  that  the  time  would  come  when 
these  events  would  be  like  e very-day  things. 

In  "^^he  meantime,  "  dear  Mrs.  Gregson*'  was 
in  no  danger  of  being  forgotten.  Many  and  many 
B  time  would  her  friend  say  to  her,  when  felici* 


THE    FAMILY    COM/ACT.  61 

tated  on  their  growing  good  fortune,  "But,  my 
sweet  friend,  we  owe  all  this  to  you  !  That's  what 
Browne  and  I  often  say;  and,  I  am  sure  if  we 
had  no  family  of  our  own,  and  should  be  worth 
millions,  we  ought  to  leave  every  sixpence  to  you 
and  yours!"  But  there  was  a  child,  which,  for 
the  present  at  least,  would  prevent  any  unreason- 
able expectations  in  the  minds  of  the  Greg- 
sons.  The  child's  christening  had  made  no  little 
talk  in  Woodbum — for  the  christening  and  the 
house-warming  were  celebrated  by  the  same  din- 
ner, and  everything  was  in  accordance  with  the 
implied  prosperity  of  the  family.  "What  the  people 
of  Woodburn  said  of  this  great  christening,  we 
have  already  heard. 

Mr.  Gregson,  who,  as  Browne  had  said;  was  a 
most  generous-hearted  fellow,  rejoiced  unfeignedly 
that  his  money  seemed  to  be  the  lucky  nest-egg 
to  which  his  friend  could  add  the  golden  ones ; 
and  he  and  his  wife  accepted  the  office  of  sponsor, 
as  one  of  great  honour — Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browne 
promising  to  stand  in  the  same  spiritual  relation- 
ship towards  the  first  young  Gregson  that  required 
it ;  nor  was  such  an  event  likely  to  be  distant. 
Furthermore,  the  mamma  apparent,  and  the 
mamma  expectant,  were  bent  upon  a  yet  closer 
and  dearer  family  union — the  marrying,  at  some 
future  day,  the  first  son  and  daughter  of  the  re- 
spective families. 

The  "  little  husband"  was  born,  and  flourishing 
under  the  name  of  Charles  Edward,  so  called  after 
the  young  Pretender,  the  songs  in  whose  honour 
and  memory  had  always  been  favourites  with  the 
"  Miranda  and  Elvira"  of  the  earlier  part  of  our 


62  THE    FAMILY    COMPACT. 

history.  Charles  Edward,  or  "  Bon  lie  Prince 
Charlie,"  as  his  mother  invariably  called  him,  was 
the  plighted  husband  of  the  first  Miss  Gregson 
that  should  be  born  to  the  family  in- Bridge-street. 
Never  had  any  romantic  scheme,  in  the  days  of 
their  early  friendship,  been  so  fostered  and  fondled 
with  as  this.  It  was  the  unceasing  topic  of  con- 
versation and  castle-building,  when  the  ladies 
met,  and  the  subject  likewise  of  many  an  epistle, 
dispatched  on  the  days  when  it  was  not  convenient 
for  them  to  meet.  The  same  system  of  education, 
from  the  cradle  upwards,  was  to  be  pursued  in 
both  cases.  They  were  to  be  carried  out  together, 
and  then  to  walk  out  together,  hand  in  hand ;  to 
exchange  presents  of  toys  and  sweetmeats;  to  be 
drawn  'in  the  same  little  carriage ;  to  call  each 
other  "  little  husband,"  and  "  little  wife,"  and  to 
have  no  ideas,  all  the  days  of  their  lives,  in  which 
each  other  should  not  be  blended.  The  ladies 
exchanged  rings,  as  tokens  of  their  troth  to  each 
other;  and  Mrs.  Gregson,  beyond  her  present  in 
character  of  godmother,  presented  her  young  son- 
in-law  elect  with  a  silver  drinking  cup,  made  to 
order,  on  which  were  engraved  the  united  initials 
of  Charles  Edward  Browne  and  Lucy  Gregson, 
such  being  the  name  the  young  lady  was  to  bear 
when  she  made  her  appearance;  and  underneath 
was  richly  chased  a  pair  of  billing  doves — "  a 
very  pretty  conceit,"  said  both  Mrs.  Browne  and 
Mrs.  Gregson,  although,  we  must  confess,  it  was 
by  no  means  an  original  one.  Nor  was  this 
solemn  league  and  covenant  entered  into  without 
the  due  consent  and  accordance  of  the  respective 
fathers.  Both  declared  themselves  perfectly  agree- 


BONNIE   PRINCE  CHARLIE  AND  HIS   WIFE.       63 

able,  provided  the  consent  of  the  parties  more 
iinmediateiy  concerned  should  be  obtained  some 
twenty  years  thereafter.  There  was  no  doubt 
about  that,  the  mothers  declared.  And,  on  the 
night  of  the  christening,  the  rest  of  the  company 
being  gone,  they  insisted  upon  Mr.  Browne  draw- 
ing up  marriage-articles,  in  the  names  of  the  tvvo 
children,  and  a  bond  also  between  the  respective 
parents,  binding  them  to  throw  no  impediments  in 
the  way  of  such  a  union,  but,  on  the  contrary,  to 
further  it  by  every  means  in  their  power.  Two 
copies  of  this  being  signed  in  the  presence  of 
witnesses,  by  the  respective  parties,  each  mother 
took  one  into  her  own  keeping,  declaring  she 
should  only  be  perfectly  happy  when  she  saw 
that  bond  ratified,  by  the  happy  union  of  their 
children. 

It  was  well  that  all  this  signing  and  sealing  was 
done  after  the  guests  had  left  the  house,  or  Mr. 
Wilford  would  have  been  able  to  have  embellished 
his  christening  narrative  with  yet  richer  material 
for  the  display  of  Harriet  Jennings'  comic  powers. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

BONNIE   PRINCE   CHARLIE   AND  HIS   WIFE. 

The  first  child  that  was  born  to  the  Gregsons  was 
a  boy ;  so  was  the  second ;  the  third  occasion 
presented  twins,  and  both  again  boys.  It  was 
very  disappointing,  but  still  not  without  its  con- 
solation ;  for  the  little  daughter,  when  she  did  come, 
would   be   all   the   more  suitable  in  aire  for  the 


64      BONNIE   PRINCE  CHARLIE   AND  HIS   WIFE. 

^* Bonnie  Prince  Charlie,"  who,  it  seemed  probable, 
would  be  the  only  descendant  of  the  Brownes. 

Prince  Charlie  deserved  to  be  called  "  Bon\iie." 
Mrs.  Jennings,  and  her  witty  daughter^  Harriet; 
Mrs.  Sykes  Willoughby,  and  even  jNIiss  Carr, 
who  always  declared  that  she  could  endure  none 
of  the  Brownes,  all  and  each  of  them  allowed  that 
Bonnie  Prince  Charlie  was  the  handsomest  child 
in  Woodburn. 

At  length,  when  he  was  in  his  fifth  year,  his 
little  wife-elect  was  born,  and,  as  had  been  so 
long  before  decreed,  was  christened  Lucy — Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Browne  standing  sponsors,  and  endowing 
her  with  christening  cap  and  robe,  silver  knife, 
fork,  and  spoon,  and  coral  and  silver  bells  the 
best  money  could  buy.  Perhaps  our  readers 
wonder,  as  we  are  greatly  disposed  to  wonder 
ourselves,  that,  in  five  years'  time,  the  Family 
Compact  had  not  been  broken.  It  happened, 
however,  that  neither  the  Jenningses,  nor  the 
Sykes  -Willoughbys,  nor  any  first-rate  town 
or  country  people,  had  yet  grown  intimate  with 
the  Brownes ;  so  that  no  rival  had  stepped  between 
the  friends,  nor  had  any  new  friends  as  yet  taken 
the  place  of  the  old.  Mr.  Browne's  profession, 
however,  was  producing  every  year  a  larger  return  ; 
he  was  growing  quickly  and  surely  into  repute  as 
a  lawyer,  and  the  whole  twelve  boxes  which  the 
office  contained,  and  even  others  out  of  sight,  were 
now,  every  one  of  them,  gold-lettered  and  pad- 
locked, ^and  contained  deeds  and  writings  of  so 
many  estates  and  families.  Peake  and  Mordan 
had  began  now  to  sink  old  animosities,  and  had 
legal  consultations  with  him,  even  of  their  own 


BONNIE   PRINCE    CHARLIE   AND  HIS   WIFE.       66 

especial  desire.  He  had,  moreover,  three  hired 
clerks  and  three  articled  ones,  all  gentlemen's 
sons,  each  sitting  at  their  respective  desks,  while 
he  himself  was  always  busy,  and  needed  not  now 
to  make  the  most  of  his  papers  to  produce  effect, 
for  nobody  questioned  now  whether  he  was  pros- 
perous or  not.  Mr.  Gregson  said  that  he  was  a 
long-headed,  far-seeing  man,  and  knew  exactly 
when  to  take  fortune  at  the  high  tide ;  he  must  be 
making  now  his  two  thousand  a-year;  he  won- 
dered when  he  would  think  of  paying  the  one 
thousand  pounds  which  he  had  borrowed  nearly 
six  years  before!  Mrs.  Gregson  always  grew 
uneasy  when  this  borrowed  money  was  spoken  of  j 
for,  although  Mrs.  Browne  was  her  dear  and 
sworn  friend,  she  could  not  help  thinking  it  the 
oddest  thing  in  the  world  that  her  husband  never 
thought  of  paying  it.  But,  though  she  might 
think  this,  she  did  not  like  Mr.  Gregson  to  have 
the  same  freedom  of  thought.  Sometimes,  how- 
ever, he  thrust  the  unpleasant  topic  upon  her, 
which  she  would  parry  thus : — "  They  could  not 
think  of  asking  the  Brownes  for  it — that  was  out 
of  the  question  !  and,  thank  Heaven,  they  did  not 
want  it;  besides,  as  Lucy  and  Charlie  we^  e  to  be 
married,  it  would  never  signify ;  it  m  ght  be 
reckoned  as  a  part  of  her  portion  laid  ou  for  her 
interest ;  "  and  what  a  good  match  it  wi  1  be  for 
our  sweet  little  pet!"  she  would  say.  *'  fou  see, 
Charles  will  be  the  only  child,  and  dear  Sarah 
told  me  the  other  day,  that  Browne  was  in  treaty 
for  his  house;  and  I  expect,  before  he  dies  he  will 
be  immensely  rich — lawyers  have  such  opportu- 
aities  of  buying  estates  and  fine  places  cheap!" 


66      BONNIE   PRINCE  CHARLIE  AND  HIS  WIFE. 

To  all  which  her  husband  would  reply,  "  We  shall 
see  in  time,  hut  there  is  many  a  slip  between 
the  cup  and  the  lip;  and  you  must  remember 
that,  although  Browne  has  one  child,  we  have 
five,  and  four  of  them  boys,  and  who  want  pro- 
viding for;  and  people  in  trade,  like  me,  do  not 
like  a  thousand  pounds  lying  merely  at  dead 
interest." 

Mr.  Gregson,  however,  did  not  ask  for  his 
money,  and  all  went  on  smoothly. 

Little  Lucy  Gregson  was  brought  up  en  the 
same  system,  physical,  moral,  and  intellectual, 
which  had  formed  the  nursery  code  of  the  "  Bonnie 
Prince  Charlie."  She  was  bathed  in  cold  water 
from  head  to  foot  every  morning,  winter  and 
summer;  she  slept  upon  a  hair  mattrass,  and  was 
drilled  as  soon  as  she  could  walk.  She  was  made 
to  put  by  half  of  all  her  sweetmeats,  comfits, 
barleysugar,  and  buns,  for  her  little  husband ;  for 
every  doll  that  was  given  to  her,  a  horse  or  whip 
was  given  to  him ;  three  mornings  in  a  week,  the 
nurse-maids  walked  together,  making  "  Bonnie 
Prince  Charlie"  take  hold  of  the  hand  of  "  his 
little  wife,"  and  conduct  her  along;  and  three 
evenings  in  every  week  likewise,  they  spent 
together  in  play.  It  not  unfrequently  happened 
that  the  "  Bonnie  Prince"  was  wayward,  and  would 
not  patronise  his  little  wife — perhaps  would  quarrel 
with  her,  and  pinch  her  black  and  blue — for  it  is 
the  vainest  attempt  in  the  world  to  compel  or 
control  the  affections  of  a  child;  or  little  Lucy 
would  kick  and  scream,  when  ordered  to  kiss  her 
"  little  husband,"  and  would  give  the  most  de- 
cided preference  to  her  own  brothers.     On  such 


BONNIE   PRINCE  CHARLIE   AND  IIIS  WIIE.      67 

untoward  occasions,  no  pains  were  spared  by 
either  mammas  or  nurses  to  effect  a  reconciliation 
and  preference,  generally  with  entiie  want  of 
success,  until  even  at  length  a  total  breach  has 
existed  between  the  parties-matrimonial;  the 
Prince  has  beaten  his  wife,  and  she  has  returned 
his  ill-will  with  the  united  energy  of  little  foot 
and  doubled  fist.  Then  came  the  after  work  of 
pacification.  Miss  Lucy  carried  the  sponge-cake 
to  the  Bonnie  Prince,  carefully  wrapped  up, 
however,  that  it  might  not  be  seen  by  her,  with 
her  mamma's  love,  and  a  kiss  which  she  herself 
was  to  bestow;  and  in  return  she  received  the 
wax-doll,  or  the  pretty  basket,  which  his  mamma 
assured  her  the  Bonnie  Prince  Charlie  had  bought 
that  very  morning  with  his  own  money. 

The  ivory  counters,  from  which  he  had  learned 
his  letters,  had  been  put  by  for  her  use ;  so  had 
"  his  pretty  picture-books;"  and  the  two  children 
were  bribed  by  their  mammas  to  sit  down  to- 
gether on  the  hearth-rug,  that  he  might  teach 
and  she  learn;  "for,"  said  jMrs.  Gregson,  "it 
will  be  so  sweet,  that  even  her  earliest  remembrance 
of  books  should  be  connected  with  him !" 

Everybody  in  Woodburn  knew  by  this  time 
that  the  two  children  were  affianced  to  each  other, 
and  infinite  was  the  jesting  and  merriment  which 
the  circumstance  occasioned.  But  little  of  all 
this,  however,  came  to  the  knowledge  of  the  two 
ladies  themselves,  for,  as  yet,  they  visited  only 
with  their  own  set,  and  there,  whatever  they 
thought  it  right  to  do,  was  considered  not  only 
respectable,  but  proper;  and,  beside  this,  they 
had  still  all  that  romantic  heroism  of  friendship 


68       BONNIE  PRINCE  CHARLIE   AND  HIS  WIFE, 

which  took  pride  in  suffering  together,  or  for  tha 
same  cause,  even  had  they  known  all  ^h^t  was  said 
of  them.  Still,  difficulties  and  vexations  did,  and 
would  occur;  nursery-maids  quarrelled  and  tittle 
tattled,  and  would  have  sown  the  seeds  of  deatVi 
in  any  friendship  less  heroic  than  that  of  their 
mistresses ;  but  the  most  serious  cause  of  annoy- 
ance was  from  the  two  little  people  themselves. 

By  the  time  Bonnie  Prince  Charlie  w^s  ten 
years  old,  he  had  vowed  all  kind  of  hatred  to,  and 
rebellion  against  his  poor  little  wife.  He  had  un- 
fortunately began  to  associate  with  young  gentle- 
men of  his  own  age,  and  among  them  he  had  not 
only  found  himself  ridiculed  for  his  royal  appella- 
tion, but  still  more,  on  account  of  his  little  sposa 
He  therefore  announced  to  his  mamma,  in  very 
plain  terms,  that  he  hated  Lucy  Gregson,  and 
would  never  speak  to  her  again  as  long  as  he 
lived!  That  he  wished  she  would  not  talk  so 
much  about  "  little  husband"  and.  "  little  wife," 
for,  that  the  boys  in  the  street  shouted  after  him; 
and,  moreover,  John  Porter  and  Harry  Robinson*' 
had  made  a  song  about  him,  which  Miss  Harriet 
Jennings  had  set  to  music;  and  that,  therefore,  he 
would  hide  himself  whenever  Mrs.  Gregson  or 
Lucy  came  to  the  house ;  and  he  was  very  glad 
indeed  that  he  was  going  to  school,  because  then 
he  should  be  quite  out  of  the  way  of  any  of  them! 

INIrs.  Browne  could  hardly  believe  her  own  ears, 
and  was  quite  shocked  at  her  son's  obduracy;  but 
he  was  an  only  son,  and  had  long  since  learned  that 
there  were  few  points  he  could  not  gain  if  he  were 
determined  ;  so  he  was  only  the  more  resolute  and 
violent,  in  proportion  to  his  mother's  resistance. 


BONNIE   IPRIKCE  CHARLIE  AND  HIS  WIFE.       60 

Similar  causes  of  annoyance  sprang  up  also  in 
the  path  of  Mrs.  Grcgson. 

*'  It's  no  manner  of  use,  ma'am,"  said  Lucy's 
nurse-maid,  on  one  particular  day,  to  her  mistress, 
"  my  trying  to  dress  Miss  Lucy ;  there  she  lies, 
all  her  length,  kicking  and  screaming,  on  the 
nursery-floor,  all  about  going  to  Mrs.  Browne's. 
And  I'm  sure,  ma'am,  if  I  might  speak  my  mind, 
I  never  would  aforce  her,  for  the  Bonnie  Prince 
nipped  a  piece  out  of  her  with  his  thumb  and 
finger  nail,  only  the  last  Saturday  we  were  there ; 
and  it  a'most  threw  her  into  fits  to  hear  his  name. 
I'm  sure,  ma'am,  he's  a  sad  ruffianly  boy ;  and,  if 
you  only  knowed  what  I  know,  you'd  never  think 
of  him  for  our  little  dear's  husband — bless  her 
heart — for  she's  too  good  for  twenty  such  as  he." 

*'  Nonsense!"  replied  Mrs.  Gregson,  quite 
offended  at  the  liberty  taken  by  her  handmaiden 
in  this  implied  censure;  "  Nonsense!  you  manage 
Miss  Lucy  very  badly ;  but  go  to  her,  she  must 
not  be  screaming  thus — she  will  rouse  the  whole 
neighbourhood!  She  shall  go  with  me  to  Mrs. 
Browne's  to-morrow." 

On  the  morrow  the  little  Lucy  was  dressed  all 
in  her  best,  and  promised  a  walk  with  mamma, 
not  a  word  being  said,  however,  on  the  intended 
call  on  the  Brownes.  She  was  taken  first  to  two 
different  houses,  put  into  very  good  humour  by 
compliments  and  cakes,  and  then  decoyed  by  a 
back  strt-et  to  the  very  front-door.  No  sooner 
did  the  hated  three  large  steps  and  the  mahogany 
door  present  themselves,  than  the  child,  who  had 
been  merrily  talking,  and  in  the  height  of  good 
humour  the  moment  before,  began  to  scream  and 


70       BONNIE  PRINCE  CHARLIE  AND  HIS  WIFl. 

kick,  and  show  such  determired  resistance,  as 
brought  all  the  grand  neighbours  to  their  windows, 
and  almost  threw  the  mother  into  fits. 

"  Be  still,  naughty  child,"  said  she,  shaking 
her  violently  by  the  arm,  and  knocking  at  the 
door  at  the  same  moment;  "be  still,  or  1  will 
whip  you!" 

Mrs.  Browne's  servants  were  deaf,  or  out  of  the 
way,  for  none  answered  the  door;  and,  who  should 
come  up  at  the  very  moment,  but  Mrs.  Jennings 
and  her  witty  daughter,  and  ISIiss  Carr,  who  all 
glanced  at  the  perturbed  countenance  of  Mrs. 
Gregson  and  her  outrageous  daughter,  with  ill- 
suppressed  mirth.  Mrs.  Gregson  knocked  yet 
louder,  and  in  half  a  minute  more  was  admitted, 
when,  vexed  and  mortified  beyond  measure,  she 
burst  into  tears.  Mrs.  Browne  did  everything  in 
her  power  to  calm  her  agitated  feelings;  and  the 
little  Lucy  being  assured  that  the  Bonnie  Prince 
Charlie  was  not  at  home,  nor  should  come  into 
her  presence,  was  persuaded  to  sit  down  on  a  little 
footstool  in  the  drawing-room,  although  she  reso- 
lutely refused  to  accept  either  plum-cake  or  fig, 
from  her  mother-in-law-elect.  Poor  child!  she 
had  been  bribed  and  deceived  so  often,  that  she 
had  no  faith  in  any  of  them. 

Bonnie  Prince  Charlie  was  sent  to  school  in  a 
neighbouring  town.  It  was  a  happy  day  both  to 
him  and  his  little  wife,  when  they  kissed  and 
parted.  The  parting,  however,  was  the  only 
portion  of  the  affair  which  had  their  own  free 
good- will;  to  kiss,  they  were  persuaded,  on  the 
plea  that  "  they  would  not  see  one  another,  nobody 
could  say  when!" 


CHANGES    WILL    COMS.  71 

"When  the   Bonnie   Prince  returned  home  foi 

the  holidays,  he  had,  even  in  the  first  half-year'f 
term,  imbibed  enough  of  the  school-boy  spirit,  to 
maintain  his  own  will,  "  in  spite  of  his  mother,  or 
any  woman  whatever;"  and  he  failed  not  to  make 
it  a  main  object  to  affront  Mrs.  Gregson  herself. 
The  first  time,  also,  he  met  with  his  little  wife,  he 
set  himself  about  being  "  as  disagreeable  as  pos- 
sible." This  being  in  the  presence  of  her  brothers 
— the  eldest  of  whom  was  about  his  own  age — 
they  took  up  the  quarrel  warmly,  and  all  w^re  at 
feud  with  him.  On  the  second  time  of  meeting, 
things  grew  worse;  George  Gregson,  the  second 
brother,  and  he,  had  a  fight,  in  which  he  was 
victor.  The  next  time  they  were  together,  Tom, 
the  elder,  fell  upon  him,  in  the  double  cause  of 
having  ill-used  his  sister,  and  fought  with  a  boy 
so  much  less  than  himself.  The  Bonnie  Prince 
went  home  soundly  beaten,  and  full  of  all  uncha- 
ritableness  to  every  one  of  the  family,  declaring 
that,  "  when  the  Gregsons  came  to  his  school,"  as 
was  talked  of,  "he'd  pay  them  off — that  he  would ! " 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

CHANGES    WILL    COME. 

Mrs.  Browne  was  sitting  one  morning  in  her 
drawing-room,  handsomely  dressed,  and  stout  and 
comely — for  she  had  unquestionably  improved  in 
appearance  as  she  had  increased  in  years  and 
wealth — and  was  now  a  fine-looking  woman,  about 
thirty  in  appearance,  though  at  least  seven  yean 
7 


72  CHANGES    WILL    COMB. 

older.  The  good  house  in  Wilton-street  was  now 
their  own,  and  Mr.  Browne  was,  without  a  doubt, 
the  first  lawyer  in  that  division  of  the  county.  He 
had  now  ceased  to  think  of  tTie  time  when  his 
position  in  society  or  his  fortune  were  doubtful. 
The  rival  firm  of  Peake  and  Mordan  had  ceased 
to  be  formidable.  Peake  was  dead,  and  Mordan 
had  sunk  into  comparative  insignificance. 

Mrs.  Browne  was  thinking,  on  this  particular 
morning,  liow  respectable  it  looked  to  have  a  well 
made  footman  in  new  handsome  live/y  to  wait 
upon  one,  and  to  open  the  door  when  anybody 
knocked.  She  hoped  somebody  particular  would 
call  this  morning;  it  was  a  thousand  pities  that 
the  Sykes  Willoughbys  had  called  yesterday ;  she 
wished  the  Jenningses  were  come  back  from  Bath, 
for  Mrs.  Jennings'  livery  was  nothing  to  compare 
to  theirs.  How  well  it  would  look,  too,  to  send 
the  Bonnie  Prince  to  school,  driven  by  this  new 
servant — for  he  enacted  groom  as  well  as  footman — 
ail  his  schoolfellows,  and  the  masters  and  all,  would 
think  so  much  better  of  him.  It  was  so  much 
handsomer,  she  thought,  than  to  go  there  in  one 
gig — the  father  and  his  two  boys,  as  the  Gregsons 
did.  She  must  confess  that  the  Gregsons  were 
rather  common  sort  of  people,  and  had  very  com- 
mon notions  about  many  things:  but  then,  to  be 
sure,  Rebecca  had  not  had  the  advantages  which 
she  had  had;  there  was  so  much  in  being  the 
■wife  of  a  i)rofessional  man — that  she  knew  years 
ago,  when  she  refused  Samford — for  professional 
men  are  alNvays  gentlemen.  She  remembered 
now,  perfectly,  how  v;jlgar  she  had  thought  Greg- 
«on  when  she  first  knew  him.     Rebecca  might 


CHANGES    WILL    COME.  78 

have  been  different,  if  she  had  married  a  different 
sort  of  person ;  then  there  were  so  many  children 
— that  alone  made  a  wonderful  difference;  for  her 
part,  she  thought  crowds  of  children  were  vulgar — 
she  was  most  happy  in  having  but  one ;  yet,  spite 
of  the  children,  if  she  were  in  Rebecca's  place,  she 
was  sure  she  could  manage  better;  she  would  not 
be  contented  with  things  in  such  a  tradesman-like 
manner — dinino;  at  one — taking  tea  at  six — it 
really  was  so  vulgar ;  and,  if  it  were  only  out  of 
compliment  to  her,  they  might  alter  their  hours ; 
for  she  never  knew  when  to  call,  without  interfering 
with  some  meal.  If  Mrs.  Gregson,  however,  had 
only  half  as  many  callers  as  she  had,  and  that 
kind  of  people  too,  she  would  be  compelled  to 
alter  them.  Then,  again,  she  wished  Rebecca 
would  have  done  with  that  everlasting  brown  silk 
gown,  and  that  scarlet  shawl,  and  would  dress 
altogether  with  more  style ;  for  she,  with  all  her 
love  for  her  friend,  could  not  resist  certain  feelings 
of  shame  and  annoyance,  when  her  great  acquaint- 
ance, the  Sykes  Willoughbys,  or  the  Jenningses, 
caught  ]Mrs.  Gregson  in  her  drawing-room.  She 
had,  it  is  true,  ventured  to  say  something  to  her 
on  the  subject  of  her  dress;  but  then,  poor  Mrs. 
Gregson  had  looked  so  hurt,  and  had  said  some- 
thing too,  all  in  confidence,  about  her  husband's 
losses  in  trade,  and  the  money  it  cost  to  keep  th© 
boys  at  school; — that  she  was  obliged  to  study 
economy;  and  that  she  would  rather  by  far  go 
shabby  herself,  than  that  little  Lucy  should,  who 
was  designed  for  Prince  Charlie's  wife.  Oh,  it 
was  rather  ridiculous  and  inconsiderate,  Mrs. 
Browne    could  not  but    confess,    to   have    evei 


y^  CHANGES    WILL    COME. 

tu(r<ight  of  marrying  her  son  to  Mr.  Gregson*g 
ddUghter.  She  had  not  taken  into  consideration, 
iri  tnose  former  years  of  their  friendship,  how  very 
diiierent  their  station  in  society  would  he,  and 
that  their  son,  an  only  child — a  gentleman  every 
inch  of  him — was  never  likely  to  marry  a  cheese- 
faclor's  daughter  !  No,  indeed,  he  would  marry, 
she  had  no  doubt,  into  a  family  as  good  as  the 
Sykes  Willoughbys ! 

At  the  very  moment  when  Mrs.  Brown's  reflec- 
tions had  arrived  at  this  ultimatum,  the  door  of 
the  drawing-room  was  thrown  open  in  the  most 
unexceptionable  manner,  and  the  footman,  in  his 
new  livery,  announced  "  Mrs.  Gregson."  Mrs. 
Browne  rose  with  almost  a  start,  yet  she  assumed 
a  manner  of  unwonted  courtesy,  to  hide  the  trea- 
son that  was  lurking  in  her  soul. 

"  Dearest  Rebecca,"  exclaimed  she^kissing  her, 
**  you  are  just  the  person  I  wanted!  I  have  been 
thinking  of  you  all  the  morning!  How  are  the 
dear  children — and  my  sweet  little  Lucy — and 
Mr.  Gregson?" 

"  Quite  well,  thank  you,  dear,"  returned  Mrs. 
Gregson ;   "  but  you've  got  a  new  servant,  I  see — 


is  Martm  gone?" 

"  No."  replied  Mrs.  Browne,  "  but  we  have 
so  many  morning  callers,  that  a  man-servant 
seemed  almost  necessary;  and  Browne  wished  to 
give  some  dinner-parties,  and  we  should  have 
been  obnged  to  hire  a  man,  and  that,  you  know, 
never  iooks  well;  so,  altogether,  we  thought  we 
had  betver  keep  one  of  our  own — the  expense  is 
no  obje-:t  at  all — and  Brown  insisted  upon  my 
keeping  Martin  as  my  own  maid;  she  has  such 


CHANGES    WILL    COME  71 

nice  manners,  and  such  an  excellent  method  of 
getting  up  lace  and  muslin — I  declare  she  always 
irons  Browne's  shirts — he  i§  very  particular  about 
his  shirts,  you  know." 

"  It  is  a  fine  thing  to  be  you,"  returned  Mrs. 
Gregson. 

'*  Bless  me,  you  are  not  envious!"  exclaimed 
her  friend,  smiling. 

*'  Oh  dear,  no!"  said  Mrs.  Gregson,  "  I  am 
sure,  I  rejoice  that  things  have  gone  so  well  with 
you.  But,  do  you  know,"  added  she,  "  who  are 
the  new  people  that  are  come  to  Moreby  Lodge? — 
you  know  there  was  a  great  mystery  about  it." 

"  No,  indeed;  I  never  could  learn,"  said  Mrs. 
Browne. 

"  You  shall  guess,"  said  her  friend,  looking 
very  well  pleased;  '*  I  am  sure  you  will  never 
guess,  though ! — I  never  was  so  surprised  in  all 
my  life." 

Mrs.  Browne  guessed  and  guessed  again,  but 
could  not  guess  aright. 

"  I'il  tell  you,"  said  Mrs.  Gregson :  "Anne  Ward 
and  her  husband — only  tliink — our  own  Qld  Anne 
Ward  of  the  AVyndham  House  days!" 

"  You  astonish  me!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Browne. 

"  I  knew  I  should,"  returned  her  friend.  **  Don't 
you  remember,  a  dozen  years  ago,  or  more,  my 
telling  you  that  she  had  written  to  me,  saying  she 
was  going  to  India?  She  and  I  were  great  friends 
after  you  left  school.  Bless  me!  only  to  think  of 
those  old  times — the  Miranda  and  Elvira  days ! 
and  Mrs.  Gregson  clasped  her  hands,  and  laughed. 

Mrs.  Browne  looked  a  good  deal  annoyed,  and 
her  friend  resumed : — 


76  CHANGES    WILL    COME. 

"  Anne  Ward  and  I  were  very  good  friends:  I 
liked  her  very  much ;  and  she  wrote  to  say  she 
was  go'mcr  to  India;  ,that  was  very  soon  after  I 
was  married — it  must  be  fifteen  years  ago ;  and, 
two  years  afterwards,  she  sent  me  a  long  letter, 
and  that  pretty  India  box." 

*'  Yes,  I  remember,"  said  Mrs.  Browne. 

"  I  heard  no  more  of  her,"  continued  Mrs. 
Gregson — "  not  one  syllable,  whether  she  was 
dead  or  alive,  till  last  night;  and  then,  a  very 
handsome  carriage  drove  up  to  the  door  with  a 
lady  in  it.  She  sent  in  her  card — Mrs.  Barwell. 
I  could  not  conceive  who  she  was;  the  servant 
said  his  lady  supposed  I  did  not  know  the  name, 
but  she  begged  I  would  see  her.  Cf  course,  I 
said  I  should  be  most  happy;  and  in  she  came. 
I  was  sitting  at  my  work  with  Lucy  and  the  two 
boys ;  but  I  could  not  for  my  life  recall  the  face, 
nor  conceive  who  she  was  :  she  held  my  hand,  and 
looked  fixedly  and  pleasantly  into  my  face,  and 
seemed  quite  to  enjoy  my  perplexity.  At  last,  I 
said,  "  Is  it  Anne  Ward?"  and  then  she  burst  out 
laughing,  just  as  she  used  to  do.  "  And  now, 
sit  down,"  said  she,  for  I  have  ordered  the  car- 
riage away  ;  and  1  am  going  to  take  tea  with  you, 
and  talk  over  old  times."  "  But,  have  you 
dined?"  I  asked;  for,  as  I  had  cold  fowl,  and 
tongue,  and  cheesecakes  in  the  house,  I  knew  I 
could  offer  her  a  nice  little  dinner.  "  Ye-s,"  she 
said,  "  I  dined  at  one  o'clock  to-day,  for  they 
told  me  you  kept  early  hours ;  and  I  am  come  to 
take  tea  with  you,  and  to  have  a  long  evening, 
and  to  talk  over  old  times." 

"It  was  very  friendly  and  considerate  of  her/* 


€HAKGES    WILL    COME.  77 

said  Mrs.  Browne ;  "  but  did  she  know  that  1  was 
living  here?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Gregson,  "  she  knew  that 
before  I  told  her;  but  she  and  I,  you  know,  were 
at  school  together  nearly  two  years  after  you  left, 
and  were  very  good  friends.  I  am  sure,  I  was 
quite  aftected  by  her  remembrance  of  me!" 

Mrs.  Browne  made  up  her  mind  that  she  would 
call  upon  her  the  very  next  morning,  and  was 
rejoiced  to  think  of  the  servant  in  livery,  whp 
would  drive  her.  **  I'm  sure,  my  dear  Rebecca,  ' 
said  she,  rather  bitterly,  "  you  must  have  done 
with  this  old  brown  silk,  and  this  old  shawl,  now 
that  carriage-people  come  to  visit  you!  and  I 
hope  Nancy  was  neat,  and  had  a  clean  apron  on 
when  she  went  to  the  door;  people  used  to  well- 
appointed  establishments,  and  well-dressed  ser- 
vants, notice  these  things  so  much ;  and  I  am 
sure,  Nancy  need  not  go  so  slovenly  as  she  does. 
But,  dear  me!  I  did  not  mean  to  hurt  you,"  said 
she,  seeing  the  colour  mount  to  Mrs.  Gregson's 
brow,  with  an  expression  of  mortification  on  her 
countenance;  *' I  only  said  it  out  of  friendship; 
but  I  know  that  people  used  to  fine  establishments 
perceive  these  things  so  soon ;  and  the  Bar  wells 
must  be  very  rich,  for,  what  a  fine  place  they  have 
made  of  the  Lodge !  and  I  hear  they  keep  three 
men-servants!" 

Mrs.  Gregson  made  no  reply,  but  looked  as  if 
something  were  labouring  in  her  mind.  Mrs. 
Browne  thought  so  too.  "  I'm  sure,  Rebecca, 
I'm  very  sorry  if  I  have  given  you  pain ;  but  I 
meant  it  only  in  kindness.  I  have  often  wished 
to  mention  the  subject  to  you.     Nancy  is  hardly 


78  CHANGES    WILL    COME. 

respectable;    and,  you  know,   other  people  may 
talk,  but  they  never  could  mention  it  to  you." 

**  I  am  not  thinking  about  that,  Sarah,"  re- 
turned Mrs.  Gregson.  "  We  cannot  afford  to 
keep  footmen  in  livery ;  a  female  servant  must  do 
for  us  :  but  I  was  coming  up  to-day,  even  if  I 
had  not  come  to  tell  you  about  Anne  Ward,  to 
mention  something  else,  which,  I  am  sure,  has 
made  me  quite  wretched  of  late ;  and,  I  really 
think,  neither  Mr.  Browne  nor  yourseii  should 
have  occasioned  the  necessity  for  it." 

,"  Bless  me!  what  do  you  mean?"  asked  the 
other;    "  you  quite  frighten  me!" 

'*  I  mean  the  money  Gregson  lent  to  Mr. 
Browne,  years  ago." 

"  Oh!"  said  Mrs.  Browne. 

"  I  am  sure  it  has  made  me  quite  unhappy  of 
late,"  continued  Mrs.  Gregson.  "  Gregson  has 
lost  a  deal  of  money  in  business — of  course,  this 
is  said  in  confidence  to  you — it  quite  affects  his 
spirits,  and,  I  fear,  his  health  also;  and  nothing 
but  absolute  necessity  would  have  induced  me  to 
mention  it;  but  he  threatened,  if  I  would  not, 
then  he  would;  and  men,  you  know,  want  delicacy 
about  these  things.  I  was  so  afraid  he  might  say 
anything  to  hurt  either  you  or  j\Ir.  Browne's  feel- 
ings ;  for  I  told  him  all  along  1  was  sure  it  had 
slipped  your  memories." 

"  You  are  very  good!"  said  Mrs.  Browne;  but 
in  a  voice  that  seemed  to  express  the  very  opposite 
of  her  words. 

"  Then,  may  I  tell  Gregson  that  you  will  men« 
tion  it  to  Mr.  Browne?"  asked  the  other. 


CHANGES    WILL    COME.  79 

"  Certainly,"  replied  she,  but  in  the  coldest 
possible  voice. 

"  And  now,  dear  Sarah,"  again  began  Mrs. 
Gregson,  who  was  wounded  by  the  tone  of  voice, 
more  than  by  the  words,  "  as  I  am  on  disagree- 
able subjects,  let  me  say  one  word  on  another 
matter,  which  has  caused  me  more  pain  of  mind 
than  you  can  conceive." 

"  For  Heaven's  sake!"  said  Mrs.  Browne,  "only 
one  unpleasant  subject  at  a  time,  if  you  please!" 

"No,  Sarah!"  returned  Mrs.  Gregson,  "it 
shall  not  be  left  till  another  time.  I  will  speak 
it ;  you  know  what  I  mean,  for  you  must  yourself 
be  conscious  of  it!" 

"  Of  what?"  ask^d  Mrs.  Browne. 

"Of  coldness  and  indifference,"  replied  she; 
"  of  not  having  the  same  regard  for  me  that  you 
used  to  have.  And  oh,  Sarah,  if  you  really  said 
what  old  Mrs.  Robinson  has  told  everybody  that 
you  said — that  you  thought  my  Lucy  badly 
managed,  and  my  boys  so  rude,  that  you  would 
not  let  dear  Charlie  come  near  them — it  was 
unkind! — it  was  cruel! — it  was  what  I  never 
deserved!  nor  could  I  have  said  it  of  you  and 
yours,  even  if  I  had  thought  it  fifty  times  the 
truth!"  And  poor  Mrs.  Gregson,  fairly  overcome 
by  her  sense  of  the  injury,  burst  into  violent 
tears. 

"  She's  a  gossipping  old  woman!"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Browne ;  "  and  pray,  Rebecca,  do  not  thus 
give  way  to  your  feelings ;  remember  you  will 
have  to  walk  through  the  town,  and  everybody 
will  see  you;  and,  I  protest,  I  never  said  one 
word  against  dear  Lucy.     I  may  have  said  that 


80  CHANGES    WILL    COME. 

Tom  and  George  were  rude ;  but,  bless  me !  that's 
no  more  than  I  have  said  of  my  own  son  hun- 
dreds of  times!  Oh  dear!  now  there's  a  knock 
at  the  hall  door!  Do,  pray,  go  into  my  bed-room, 
and  wash  your  face!  you'll  find  Martin  there;  and 
tell  her  to  give  you  a  glass  of  wine!" 

So  saying,  Mrs.  Browne  hurried  her  poor  friend 
out  of  the  drawing-room,  just  before  the  new  foot- 
man brouglit  up  a  party  of  fine  ladies.  Mrs. 
Gregson  stood  on  the  second  flight,  just  long 
enough  to  let  the  drawing-room  door  be  closed, 
and  the  footman  out  of  sight,  and  then,  without 
entering  the  bed-room,  or  encountering  Martin, 
whom  she  greatly  disliked,  she  smothered  her 
feelings,  both  of  pride  and  sdVrow,  as  well  as  she 
could,  and  let  herself  out  of  the  house,  right  glad 
that  the  fine  new  footman  was  no  where  to  be  seen. 

The  disparaging  thoughts  which  had  been  occu- 
pying Mrs.  Browne's  mind,  before  Mrs.  Gregson 
made  her  appearance,  were  no  way  weakened  by 
the  visit  she  had  just  paid.  The  brown  silk  gown, 
and  the  red  shawl,  looked  even  shabbier  in  her 
eyes  than  ever;  "and  if  it  indeed  were,"  reasoned 
she,  "as  Mrs.  Gregson  hinted,  that  their  circum- 
stances were  unprosperous,  how  little  to  be  desired 
was  her  acquaintance,  in  many  ways."  Their  new 
friends,  all  gay  and  wealthy,  would  not  like  to 
meet  the  shab})y  figure  and  dismal  countenance 
of  poor  Mrs.  Gregson  about  the  place.  Mrs. 
Gregson  did  not  get  stouter  as  she  got  older ;  and 
really,  her  friend  protested,  she  began  to  look 
quite  like  the  old  woman!  Then,  turning  to 
another  branch  of  the  subject,  she  still  cogitated 
on :   "  It  was   so  strange  that  Anne  Ward,  now 


CHANGES    WILi.    COME,  81 

the  wife  of  the  rich  India  Colonel  Barwell,  of 
Moreby  Lodge,  should  go  in  that  familiar  sort  of 
way  to  call  upon  her ;  and  yet,  what  was  this  but 
a  proof  that  she  knew  her  to  be  low  in  the  world? 
She  never  would  have  called  on  me,"  said  she, 
"  in  that  style!  No,  no,  it  was  plain  enough  that 
she  knew  the  true  manners  of  the  world ;  people 
holding  such  a  position  in  society  as  the  Brownes, 
would  call  on  the  new  comers — such  as  the  Greg- 
sons  could  not  have  volunteered  their  acquaintance 
to  the  Barwells;  Mrs.  Barwell  evidently  wished  to 
set  the  poor  friend  at  ease,  and  would  wait  to  be 
called  on  by  the  rich  one!" 

The  flattering  unction  being  thus  laid  to  her 
soul,  she  was  quite  easy  on  the  subject  of  the 
Barwells,  and  then  turned  her  thoughts  to  that 
part  of  her  friend's  communication,  which  was 
most  annoying  of  all — the  borrowed  money.  She 
must  mention  it  to  her  husband — there  was  no 
doubt  of  that;  but  she  knew  very  well,  that, 
although  everything  was  going  on  in  wordly 
matters  to  their  hearts'  content,  and  that  there 
was  no  want  of  money  for  any  purpose,  either 
for  ease  or  pleasure,  nor  yet  for  the  purchase  of 
houses  or  lands,  still,  it  was  another  thing  to 
raise  a  thousand  pounds,  and  pay  it  down  for  no 
visible  return :  they  would  seem  to  be  a  thousand 
pounds  poorer,  when  this  money  was  paid  to 
Gregson.  She  devoutly  wished  they  never  had 
had  it;  for  "  Browne,"  said  she,  "  must  and 
would  have  made  his  way,  spite  of  any  impedi- 
ment; and,  I  am  sure  we  over-estimated  the 
favour  at  the  time.  We  have  always  thought 
quite  too  much  of  the  Gregsons;  and,  if  it  had 


82  CHANGES    WILL    COME* 

not  been  for  tins  horrid  money,  we  ought  to  have 
dropped  them  years  ago!" 

With  tliis  sense  of  duty  strong  upon  her,  she 
at  that  moment  opened  the  drawing-room  door 
for  her  husband,  whose  step  she  heard  on  the 
stairs. 

"  Mrs.  Gregson  has  just  been  here,"  said  she, 
*'  the  moment  he  entered;  and  what  do  you  think 
she  came  about?" 

Her  husband  could  not  tell. 

*'  She  says,"  replied  Mrs.  Browne,  "  that  theif 
circumstances  are  very  bad;  and  so  I  can  believe, 
for  she  looks,  and  has  looked  a  long  time,  dread- 
fully shabby!  and  she  says  they  must  have  the 
money!"  ^ 

"  He  has  been  with  me  about  it,"  said  Browne, 
looking  angry  and  annoyed ;  "  it  is  a  great 
shame  that  he  should  want  money — people  always 
supposed  that  he  was  making  a  property." 

*'  It's  really  too  bad!"  exclaimed  his  wife; 
"  and  what  shall  you  do?" 

*'  Do! "  repeated  Browne,  "  require  six  months' 
notice,  to  be  sure,  and  pay  it  in! — It's  folly 
talking  of  paying  a  thousand  pounds  "at  a  day's 
notice — so  I  told  him !  But  what  I  came  at  this 
moment  about  was,  to  tell  you  that  Mr.  Sykes 
Willoughby  will  take  luncheon  here  to-morrow 
at  one ;  and  I  wish  you  to  get  some  cream  cheese 
— I  heard  him  say  he  was  fond  of  it — and  let 
everything  be  handsome! " 

"  Yes,"  returned  Mrs.  Browne ;  "  but  I  do  not 
know  where  to  get  the  cream  cheese." 

"  You  must  get  it!  "  returned  her  husband;  "  if 
it  costs  five  pounds,  it  must  be  had!" 


THE    NEW    FRIEND.  88 

Mrs.  Browne  having  assured  her  husband  that 
it  should  be  had  if  money  could  obtain  it,  made 
him  listen  to  the  strange  history  of  the  new  resi- 
dents at  i\loreby  Lodge,  and  of  Mrs.  Barwell's 
visit  to  Mrs..  Gregson. 

"  You  see,"  said  she,  "  all  this  was  done  out 
of  consideration  to  their  humble  circumstances : 
she  waits  now  for  me  to  call  upon  her.  Mrs. 
Gregson  never  could  have  volunteered  her  friend- 
ship to  people  living  at  Moreby  Lodge." 

Mr.  Browne  approved  of,  and  acquiesced  in,  all 
.his  wife  said;  and  wished  her  to  pay  her  respects 
to  the  Barwells,  without  fail,  the  moment  after 
Mr.  Sykes  Willoughby  had  lunched  there,  the 
next  day. 


CHAPTER     IX. 

THE    NEW    FRIEND. 

Mr.  Sykes  Willoughby  lunched  with  the 
Brownes  the  next  day — cream-cheese  being  on 
the  table,  of  which  the  important  gentleman  par- 
took, commending  it  even  to  Mr.  13rowne's  satis- 
faction. 

All  this  being  so  happily  dismissed,  Mrs. 
Browne,  driven  by  the  new,  well-appointed  man- 
servant, in  the  handsome  gig,  went  to  make  her 
call  upon  the  new  lady  of  Moreby  Lodge.  IVIoreby 
Lodge  was  one  of  those  grand  places  with  an 
humble  name ;  any  one  who  had  heard  it  merely 
mentioned  might  have  imagined  it  an  unostentatioui 


84  THE    NEW    FEIEND, 

cottage  or  villa,  but  seeing  it,  they  would  eagerly 
have  asked,  ""What  splendid  mansion  is  that?'* 
The  very  fact  of  living  at  Moreby  Lodge  was  a 
guarantee  for  fortune  and  rank ;  the  Sykes  Wil- 
loughby's  place,  although  pompously  designated 
as  "  Castle  Willoughby,"  was  not  so  good  a  honse. 
It  was  a  very  satisfactory  thing,  therefore,  to  Mrs. 
Browne,  to  be  driving  up  the  beautiful  grounds, 
with  the  feeling  that  she  should  be  as  intimate  at 
Moreby  Lodge  as  if  it  were  her  own  place — that 
no  doubt  she  should  be  staying  there  a  month  at 
a  time,  and  Charlie  would  be  invited  to  shoot 
there;-- — it  was  certainly  a  most  agreeable  thing  to 
have  rich  and  great  friends !  " 

■Mrs.  Browne  was  commissioned  by  her  husband 
with  his  card,  and  the  handsomest  apology  for  not 
accompanying  her,  on  the  plea  of  important  busi- 
ness with  Mr.  Sykes  AVilloughby;  but  that,  at 
the  earliest  moment  he  could  steal  from  his  pro- 
fessional engagements,  he  would  have  the  honour 
of  paying  his  compliments  to  ColoWel  and  Mrs. 
Barwell. 

All  Woodburn  had  talked  of  the  improvements 
at  Moreby  Lodge;  but  Mrs.  Browne  was  hardly 
prepared  for  the  display  of  wealth  and  taste,  both 
within  and  without,  which  she  discovered. 

"  It  was  strange,"  she  thought,  as  she  sate  in 
the  drawing-room,  waiting  for  the  appearance  of 
the  lady  of  the  house,  *'  how  the  mistress  of  a  place 
like  this,  should  seek  out,  and  almost,  as  it  were, 
fly  to  the  arms  of  a  cheese-factor's  wife !  There 
must  be  something  innately  vulgar  in  her  tastes; 
and  it  must  have  been  certainly  without  the  know- 
ledge of  the  Colonel  that  it  was  done!" 


THE    NEW    FRIEND.  85 

So  reasoned  she,  till  Mrs.  Barwell  entered  the 
room.  Mrs.  Gregson  might  well  say,  it  was  diffi- 
cult to  recognise  in  her  the  Anne  Ward  of  the 
AVyndham  House  days.  She  was  tall,  and  nobly 
formed,  although,  from  the  effect  of  climate,  look- 
ing older  than  her  real  age,  and  was  exquisitely 
dressed;  with  manners  of  the  utmost  self-posses- 
sion, and  quiet  dignity.  Revulsions  of  feeling 
may  be  as  instantaneous  as  lightning;  and  Mrs. 
Browne,  who,  the  moment  before,  had  wrought 
herself  up  into  a  spirit  of  contempt,  felt  immediately 
the  most  resolute  determination  to  become  her 
intimate  friend — to  transfer  to  her  the  friendship 
which  had  for  so  many  years  been  the  property  of 
Mrs.  Gregson. 

The  joyous  confidential  meeting  which  Mrs. 
Gregson  had  described  as  taking  place  between 
herself  and  Mrs.  Barwell,  was  evidently  not  de- 
signed to  be  repeated ;  the  lady  was  cordial,  but 
no  more.  Mrs.  Browne  enacted  raptures,  and 
professed  inexpressible  delight,  and  introduced  the 
memory  of  old  times,  and  Wyndham  House ;  but 
it  v/ould  not  take.  Mrs.  Barwell  was  cool  and 
measured  in  all  her  expressions ;  she  was  no  way 
inclined  to  overstep  the  bounds  of  the  utmost  pro- 
priety. It  was  the  most  provoking  thing  in  the 
world  I  She  then  ventured  upon  another  topic, 
"  dear  Rebecca,"  as  she  called  her,  hoping  to  have 
struck  a  sympathetic  chord. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Barwell,  "  Mrs.  Gregson 
seems  most  happily  married." 

"  Mr.  Gregson  has  always  been  reckoned  lich," 
returned  ^Irs.  Browne. 

"  What  an  air  of  comfort  there  is  throughout 


86  THE    NEW    FRIEND. 

the  house!"  said  Mrs.  Barwell,  at  once  kindling 
into  animation — *'  real  substantial  comfort — not 
show.  It  did  my  heart  good  to  see  her,  and 
those  sweet  cliildren.  I  saw  only  three,  however, 
the  two  younger  boys  and  Lucy.  I  must  have 
Lucy  to  stay  with  me  here,  for  I  love  children! 
I  subscribe  with  all  my  heart  to  what  the  good 
German  professed, '  Love  for  Jesus  Christ  and  little 
children!'" 

*'  Lucy  is  a  very  pretty  girl !  "  said  Mrs.  Browne, 
quite  annoyed  and  amazed  by  these  extraordinary 
observations ;  "  but  Mrs.  Gregson  spoils  her 
children." 

"Indeed!"  replied  Mrs.  Barwell,  coolly:  "that 
she  loves  them  dearly,  and  indulges  them  more 
than  many  systematic  mammas  deem  prudent, 
may  be  the  case;  but  spoiled  they  certainly  did 
not  seem  to  me;  for  children  with  milder  manners, 
or  more  gentle,  intelligent  countenances,  I  have 
rarely  seen." 

*'  No,  certainly,"  replied  the  discomfited  Mrs. 
Browne. 

"  And  her  husband,"  continued  Mrs.  Barwell, 
"  there  is  a  frank,  cordial  ex])ression  about  him, 
that  won  my  heart.  I  should  pronounce  him  a 
good  man  in  every  relation  of  life,  merely  from  the 
tone  of  his  voice.  It  really  did  me  good  to  see 
that  household." 

"  But,"  said  Mrs.  Browne,  "  they  belong  to  a 
very  subordinate  class ;  people  of  any  standing  in 
society  would  not  visit  with  them;  they  want 
that  polish  of  manner,  that  je  lie  sais  quoi  which 
distinguishes  people  of  fashion — or  education, 
perhaps,  I  should  rather  say." 


THE    NEW    FRIEKi),  87 

"  I  often  question,"  said  Mrs.  Barwell,  "  whe- 
ther their's  is  not  the  class  of  society,  however,  in 
which  true  happiness  is  most  generally  found. 
They,  as  individuals,  are  far  more  independent 
than  persons  of  fashion — of  our  own  class,  Mrs. 
Browne." 

Mrs.  Browne  acknowledged  this  last  remark  as 
a  compliment. 

"  There  is,"  continued  Mrs.  Barwell,  *'  in  our 
own  class,  so  much  sacrifice  to  convention ; — 
this  must  not  be  done,  or  that  must  not  be  done — 
not  because  it  is  wrong,  but  because  it  is  not 
customary  for  people  of  a  certain  rank  to  do  so, 
and  vice  versa.  You  must  rise,  and  go  to  bud, 
and  take  your  meals,  according  to  certain  rules 
which  fashion  has  prescribed ;  you  must  ride, 
when,  perhaps,  you  would  rather  walk;  you  must 
be  in  London  just  when  you  would  rather  be  in 
the  country  ;  you  must  go  to  this  place  of  amuse- 
ment, although  it  may  be  no  amusement  to  you; 
and  you  must  not  go  somewhere  else,  although  it 
would  delight  you  beyond  everything;  you  must 
not  visit  with  such  and  such  people,  however  ami- 
able, and  clever,  and  good  they  may  be,  because 
they  dine  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  or  keep  no 
man-servant,  or  purchase  fewer  or  less  expensive 
dresses  in  the  course  of  the  year  than  would  be 
reckoned  the  stylish  number." 

"  Not  so  arbitrary  as  that!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Browne. 

"  The  spirit  which  governs  the  higher  grade  of 
ihe  middle  classes,  in  their  intercourse  with  each 
other,"  said  Mrs.  Barwell,  "is  certainly  as  arbi- 
trary." 


88  THE    NEW    FRIEND, 

"  But,"  said  Mrs.  Browne,  "  you,  at  least,  are 
not  bound  by  these  rigorous  laws." 

*'  Not  entirely,  thank  God!"  returned  Mrs.  Bar- 
well,  with  animation.  "  I  have,  fortunately,  a 
very  sensible  man  for  my  husband,  and  who 
allows  me  to  do  just  as  I  please ;  and  I  exercise 
considerable  independence  of  judgment:  but,  my 
dear  i\Irs.  Browne,"  said  she,  smiling,  "  you  will 
not  convince  me  that  the  liaut-ton  of  Woodburn 
will  not  be  greatly  shocked  and  scandalized  that 
I  made  a  familiar  call  on  the  wife  of  a  cheese- 
factor;  they  will  set  me  down  either  as  decidedly 
vulgar,  or  as  a  mad-woman." 

"  I  must  confess,"  began  Mrs.  Browne,  and 
then  hesitated,  not  knowing  whether  it  was  pru- 
dent, with  so  eccentric  a  lady,  to  speak  her  mind 
fully. 

"  Yes,  I  know  what  you  would  say,"  said  Mrs. 
Barwell;  "and,  though  1  should  not  consider 
myself  accountable  to  everybody  for  the  common 
exercise  of  my  free  will,  I  will  tell  you  candidly 
why  I  did  so.  We  were  girls  at  school  together — 
that  you  know.  I  was  poor,  and  a  day-scholar; 
Rebecca  Wells,  now  Mrs.  Gregson,  had  known 
some  early  sorrows  of  her  own,  and  she  was  kind 
to  me — very  kind,  and,  I  believe,  sincerely  loved 
me ;  she  must  have  told  you,  for  you  were  sworn 
friends — "  the  Miranda  and  Elvira,"  said  she, 
laughing:  "  what  a  warm  friendship  we  struck  up 
after  you  left !" 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Browne — who  felt  angry  to 
think  that  she  had  not  known  all  her  friend's 
secrets — "  I  never  heard  of  it !" 

"  Nevertheless,"  said   Mrs  Barwell,  "  we  were 


THE    NEW    FRIEND,  89 

dear  friends,  and  it  was  a  great  sorrow  to  me  when 
she  left.  My  youth  was  made  up  of  bright  lights 
and  deep  shades  :  my  first  great  sorrow  was  losing 
my  parents;  my  great  happiness  was  to  live  seven 
years  with  an  uncle  and  aunt ;  then  came  a  shade 
again,  and  I  lived  with  my  grandmother:  when 
you  knew  me,  she  was,  unhappily,  infirm  both  in 
health  and  temper,  and  the  discomforts  of  that 
part  of  my  life  were  great ;  she  was  poor  and 
proud;  my  education  was  the  result  of  a  legacy, 
left  by  my  uncle  for  that  express  purpose.  What 
did  I  not  owe  to  that  uncle  and  aunt!"  There 
was  a  slight  tremor  in  Mrs.  Barwell's  voice,  but 
she  continued: — "  My  uncle  and  aunt  dealt  in 
tea — yes,  Mrs.  Browne,  I  assure  you  they  kept  a 
shop — a  little  commission-shop,  which  produced 
them  but  a  small  income.  I  lived  with  them 
seven  years  from  the  time  when  I  was  five  years 
old.  It  was  a  golden  time — I  do  not  believe 
there  was  one  shade  upon  it!  I  shall  never 
forget  the  happy,  kind  cquntenances  of  my  uncle 
and  aunt;  the  little  shop,  and  all  the  neat  little 
packets  of  tea  sealed  up  ready  for  customers ;  and 
the  neat  little  back  parlour,  and  the  tea-table  at 
which  we  three  sat;  and  how  I  used  to  run  out  to 
help  the  customers  when  we  were  at  meals,  to 
save  my  uncle  the  trouble — for  I  loved  him 
dearly  I  I  declare,  I  have  a  foolish  fancy  for  all 
little  tea-shops,  to  this  very  day.  Then,  I  re- 
member the  holidays  that  came  now  and  then ; 
and  the  joy  it  was  when  Christmas-day  fell 
on  a  Saturday  or  Monday,  and  the  shop  was 
closed  for  two  whole  days  together,  and  we  could 
thus  extend  a  pleasure — even  stop  out  all  night ; 


90  THE    l^W   FRIENIV. 

and  my  good  uncle  used  to  laugh,  and  say  what 
a  fine  thing  it  must  be  to  be  a  gentleman,  and 
lead  a  life  of  Sundays!  Bless  me!"  said  Mrs. 
Barwell,  now  really  wiping  her  eyes,  "  I  am 
quite  a  child  when  I  think  of  these  thinp:s !  And 
then,  in  summer,  when  a  cousin  came  over  for  a 
week,  to  manage  the  shop,  and  we  all  set  off  in  a 
post-chaise  somewhere — often  tn  the  sea  side ;  and 
then,  no  children  just  let  loose  from  school,  were 
happier  than  we!  How  we  used  to  pick  up 
shells;  and  write  our  names  on  the  firm  sand,  and 
watch  till  the  tide  washed  them  out;  and  bathe  in 
the  sea,  and  come  home  so  hungry;  and  make 
acquaintance  with  our  fellow-lodgers;  and  even 
set  off  on  an  excursion  in  a  spring-cart,  hired  for 
the  day — for  we  were  anything  but  aristocratic  in 
those  days!  How  often  have  I  thought  of  those 
things!" 

Mrs.  Barwell  paused;  her  auditor  made  no 
remark,  for  she  thought  her  the  oddest  person  she 
had  ever  known;  and  presently  Mrs.  Barwell 
resumed. 

"  I  assure  you,  when  I  was  in  India,  and  my 
fortune  had  changed  so  completely,  I  never  thought 
of  those  times  or  persons  with  shame  or  disgust; 
and  I  determined,  that  when  I  came  back  to  Eng- 
land I  would  throw  myself,  once  more,  among 
the  middle  classes,  and  witness,  at  least,  such 
happiness  as  I  enjoyed  in  my  youth.  I  loved 
Rebecca  Wells.  1  knew  that  she  had  married  one 
of  her  own  class;  she  had  written  to  me,  and  told 
me  of  her  husband  and  her  children ;  and  when 
we  indeed  returned  to  England,  and  all  the  island 
was  before  us  to  choose  from,  and  the  Colonel 


THE    NEW    FRIEND.  91 

most  generously  gave  me  leave  to  please  myself, 
I  came  down  here,  found  this  pretty  place  on 
sale,  which  our  solicitor  in  London  purchased 
for  us,  and  here  we  now  are ;  nor  was  it  till  two 
days  a.(rn  I  saw  Mrs.  Gregson,  for  1  determined  not 
to  apprize  her  of  our  coming,  that  I  might  witness 
her  pleasure.  Nor  was  her  pleasure  inferior  to 
mine ;  and  I  rejoice  to  think,  that,  with  all  her 
good  feeling  and  affectionate  nature,  she  belongs 
to  a  class  where  she  may  dare  to  be  happy  in  the 
most  rational  way." 

"  I  fear  you  will  be  disappointed  in  her,  '  said 
Mrs.  Browne,  to  whom  almost  every  word  in  this 
long  speech  had  been  displeasing. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  you  say  so,"  returned  she, 
"  for  you  must  have  had  opportunities  of  knowing 
her  so  well;  but  I  am  an  obstinate  person,  and 
I  must  judge  of  people  and  things  for  myself." 

*'  I  beg,"  said  ^Irs.  Browne,  afraid  lest  she  had 
committed  herself,  "  that  you  will  rightly  under- 
stand my  words.  I  fear  rather  that  you  have 
over-estimated  the  happiness  of  tradespeople,  as 
a  class;  they  always  appear  to  me  to  want  refine- 
ment." 

"  It  may  be  so,"  said  Mrs.  Barwell,  "  but  my 
uncle  and  aunt  were  truly  refined  in  mind  and 
manner;  he  was  more  of  a  gentleman  than  most 
men  of  fashion,  because  his  refinement  and  deli- 
cacy was  that  of  the  heart.  If  I  have  to  discover 
that  such  as  he  and  his  incomparable  wife  are  but 
the  exceptions  to  the  class,  my  disappointment 
will  be  a  bitter  one!" 

*'  Of  all  the  absurd  women  that  ever  I  saw," 
said  Mrs.  Browne,  that  same  evening,  to  her  hus- 


92  THE    NEW    FRIEND. 

band,  "  Mrs.  Barwell  is  the  absurdest.  She  has 
the  most  outre  notions  about  tradespeople  being 
so  much  happier,  and  so  much  more  desirable  as 
acquaintance  tlian  the  gentry,  that  really  I  felt  it 
almost  like  a  personal  aftront!" 

"  She  must  be  an  extraordinary  person,"  said 
Browne. 

"  It  was  the  most  ridiculous  thing  in  the  world," 
continued  she,  "  to  hear  her  talking  about  some 
old  shop-keeping  uncle  of  hers,  whom  she  was 
brought  up  with." 

"  People  generally  wish  to  drop  such  low  con- 
nexions," remarked  her  husband. 

"  But,"  said  Mrs.  Browne,  "  she  is  one  of 
those  people  who  pride  themselves  on  eccentric 
opinions ;  one  would  think,  to  hear  her  talk,  that 
she  would  be  only  too  happy  to  exchange  Moreby 
Lodge  for  a  little  tea-dealer's  shop,  with  only  a 
back  parlour.  I  protest  I  never  heard  such  non- 
sense as  she  talked ;  she'll  be  a  famous  subject  for 
Harriet  Jennings.  I  must  tell  her,  the  first  time 
I  see  her!  And  then,  to  hear  her  raving  about  the 
Gregsons!  Would  you  believe  it? — she  says  they 
came  into  this  neighbourhood — bought  ^loreby 
Lodge — on  purpose  to  be  near  the  Gregsons!" 

]\Ir.  Browne,  although  not  much  given  to 
laughter,  burst  out  into  a  loud  fit  of  merriment, 
and  inquired  what  Colonel  Barwell  said  to  all 
this? 

"  I  did  not  see  the  Colonel,"  replied  Mrs. 
Browne;  "  but  he  must  be  a  Jerry  Sneak,  for 
she  says  he  lets  her  do  just  as  she  will  in  all 
these  fancies.  She  came  down  and  took  the 
house,  and  seems  to  rule  everything.     I  am  con- 


THE    NEW    FRIEND.  9S 

vinced,  oy  many  things  she  said,  that  they  are  not 
first-rate  people!" 

Her  husband  agreed  with  her;  and  so  the  con- 
versation -ended. 

If  the  sworn  friendship  had  been  growing  cooler 
and  cooler  between  Mrs.  Browne  and  Mrs.  Greg- 
son,  this  coming  in  of  a  third  friend  put  an  end  to 
it  at  once. 

Mrs.  Browne  had,  as  we  saw  at  the  commence- 
ment of  the  last  chapter,  admitted  into  her  mind 
many  causes  of  dissatisfaction  ;  but  greater  than  all 
was  the  fact,  which  Mrs.  Barwell  had  unwittingly 
revealed,  that  she  had  formed  another  friendship, 
of  which  she  was  permitted  to  know  nothing. 
She  had  been  deceived  in  the  very  beginning ;  *'  and 
think,"  pondered  she,  "what  would  she  have  been 
but  for  me?  She  owes  everything  to  me,  as  she 
has  avowed  hundreds  of  times ;  but  this  is  what 
one  gets  by  throwing  away  one's  friendship  on 
common  people!"  The  "Miranda  and  Elvira 
friendship"  seemed  little  short  of  insanity;  and 
she  most  heroically  dragged  forth  a  hair  trunk, 
containing,  under  lock  and  key,  all  the  letters  she 
had  ever  received  from  Mrs.  Gregson,  tied  up  in 
yearly  packets,  and  variously  inscribed — "  From 
my  sweet  friend,  Elvira,  179 — " — "  Letters  and 
notes  from  the  sister  of  my  soul,  from  1799  to 
1802"—"  Poems,  by  my  beloved  Elvira,  179—." 
She  could  not  go  through  even  the  inscriptions  of 
them.  She  was  at  a  loss  how  to  destroy  them,  for 
they  were  so  many,  they  would  smother  any  ordi- 
nary fire ;  they  were  so  foolish,  they  must  not  be 
seen  by  any  one.  She  locked  the  box  again,  and 
ordered  Martin  to  carry  it  into  the  lumber  garret. 


94  THE    NEW    FRIEND, 

These  memorials  of  "  eternal  friendship"  being 
thus  removed  from  view,  she  took  the  signed  and 
sealed  Family  Compact,  and,  without  vouchsafing 
it  a  single  glance,  tore  it  to  pieces,  and  thrust  it 
deep  down  into  the  very  centre  of  her  dressing- 
room  fire. 

Things  were  not  arrived  quite  at  this  stage  with 
Mrs.  Gregson ;  she,  as  she  said,  had  felt  the  grow- 
ing coolness  of  late,  with  great  distress  of  mind. 
She  was  not  conscious,  in  her  own  heart,  of  any 
decrease  of  affection.  Nay,  she  was  sure  that 
the  tears  she  had  shed  about  her  friend's  indiffer- 
ence, proved  that  she  still  was  faithful  as  ever; 
still,  although  she,  perhaps,  had  not  yet  changed, 
she  was  in  that  state  when  she  was  capable  of 
being  changed;  and  the  very  comparison,  which 
she  could  not  help  drawing,  between  the  assump- 
tion of  superiority  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Browne, 
whom,  she  knew,  was  reckoned  by  everybody  in 
Woodburn  only  as  an  upstart,  and  the  genuine, 
open-hearted  affection  volunteered  to  her  by  Mrs, 
Barwell,  by  whose  slightest  notice  all  Woodburn 
reckoned  itself  honoured,  wrought  that  very  change. 
She  was  satisfied  to  let  Mrs.  Browne  slide  out  of 
her  heart,  seeing  that  a  better  one  was  willing  to 
take  her  place;  and  one,  more  especially,  who 
was  satisfied  with  Mr.  Gregson  as  he  was;  and 
who  thought  the  children  neither  rude  nor  spoiled ; 
and  who  declared,  that  Lucy  must  go  and  spend 
weeks  with  her.  That  was  more  than  Mrs. 
Browne  had  done  for  years,  although  she  was 
affianced  to  Charlie;  and  now  that  affair — that 
Family  Compact — seemed  of  doubtful  wisdom  to 
her  mind.     She  determined  to  mention  it  to  Mrs. 


THE    NEW    FRIEND.  95 

Barwcll,  and,  if  she  thought  so  too,  to  withdraw 
herself  and  her  daughter  from  it.  There  was  a 
sweet  satisfaction  in  her  mind  at  the  thought  of 
this:  '*  It  will  prove,"  she  said,  "  that  I  have  some 
spirit." 

The  Family  Compact  was  explained  to  Mrs. 
Barwell,  on  the  next  occasion  of  their  meeting, 
and  her  counsel  required. 

"  Swch  schemes,"  said  Mrs.  Barwell,  '^  never 
conld  succeed;  nor  is  it  desirable  that  they 
should.  Young  Browne  may,  and  very  probably 
will,  grow  up  a  most  unfit  husband  for  your 
Lucy;  how,  then,  could  you  urge  such  a  union? 
Besides,  it  places  the  young  people  themselves  in 
so  unpleasant  a  position  towards  each  other.  I 
should  expect  dislike  rather  than  affection  to  bo 
the  consequence." 

"  So  it  has  been,"  said  Mrs.  Gregson ;  "  they 
have  disliked  each  other  for  years.  Lucy  is  a 
dear,  aifectionate  girl,  and  has  love  enough  for  all 
the  world ;  but  she  detests  Prince  Charlie — we 
always  called  him  so.  Charles  Edward  is  his 
name ;  and  '  Bonnie  Prince  Charlie'  was  the  name 
he  went  by  throughout  Woodburn — the  very  boys 
used  to  shout  it  after  him."  . 

*'  Poor  child!"  said  Mrs.  Barwell. 

"  It  was  his  mother's  doing!"  returned  the 
other. 

"  The  greater  the  pity,"  replied  she;  "  a  nick- 
name is  a  cruel  thing!  But  what  kind  of  boy  is 
he?     He  must  be  fourteen  or  fifteen  now." 

"  He  will  soon  be  eighteen,"  said  Mrs.  Gregson; 
**  he  has  been  at  Rugby,  and  is  to  go  to  Cam- 
bridge, I  believe :  he  is  to  be  a  barrister,  they  say. 
9 


96  THE    NEW    FRIEVD. 

He  is  a  fine  youth,  I  hear;  but  I  have  not  seen 
him  now  for  nearly  two  years.  He  never  comes 
near  us;  for  he  has  a  deal  of  his  mother's  spirit 
about  him ;  likes  mixing  with  great  people,  and 
all  that  kind  of  thing;  and  Lucy  dislikes  him  so 
much,  that  I  never  ask  him  to  come  now." 

"  You  must  say  no  more  about  this  Family 
Compact,"  remarked  Mrs.  Barwell;  "  never  men- 
tion it  to  Lucy ;  you  can  talk  it  over  easily  with. 
Mrs.  Browne;  most  likely  she  will  be  as  glad  to 
abandon  the  idea  as  you,  if  she  has  not  already 
done  so,  which  is  most  likely." 

'*  She  thinks,  I  have  no  doubt,"  replied  Mrs. 
Gregson,  "  of  Prince  Charlie  marrying  some  great 
person's  daughter;  for  you  see  Browne  has  great 
influence  among  the  county  families;  and  I  am 
sure  that  youth  carries  his  head  high  enough  for 
anything.  I  know  well  that  they  all  of  them 
despise  us,  because  we  are  connected  with  trade; 
which  is  very  absurd,  you  know,  if  one  only  re- 
members what  ^Mrs.  Brow-fie's  father  was — a 
common  grocer!" 

"  Do  not  let  it  pique  you  at  all,  dear  Mrs. 
Gregson,"  said  Mrs.  Barwell,  smiling;  "  let  young 
Browne  marry  some  great  person's  daughter,  if 
he  please;  you  may  make  Lucy  far  happier  by 
marrying  her  to  such  a  tradesman  as  my  dear 
aunt  married,  even  than  by  marrying  her  to  many 
a  man  with  a  title." 

*'  But,"  %aid  Mrs.  Gregson,  "  one  naturally 
wishes  to  see  one's  children  rise  in  the  world." 

•'  She  need  not  do  better  than  you  have  done," 
returned  her  friend,  "  with  that  fine,  English- 
looking,  manly  husband  of  yours." 


THE    NEW    FRIEND.  97 

Mrs.  Gregson  was  gratified  by  the  compliment 
on  her  husband,  but  still  she  was  not  satisfied. 

"  Have  no  concern  about  Lucy,"  said  Mrs. 
Barwell;  "  she  will  marry  well,  never  fear;  only 
leave  her  to  choose  a  husband  for  herself." 

This  conversation  was  decisive.  Mrs.  Gregson 
packed  up  her  copy  of  the  Family  Compact,  and 
sent  it,  with  the  following  note,  to  Mrs.  Browne. 

Bridge-street,  October  21,  1820. 
My  dear  Sarah — I  would  not,  for  the  world, 
hold  you  bound  in  any  way  contrary  to  your 
wishes.  I  know  that  your  feelings  are  not  what 
they  used  to  be  towards  us.  I  therefore  send  you 
my  copy  of  the  Family  Compact,  wishing  entirely 
to  withdraw  from  it.  I  shall  leave  Lucy  free  to 
choose  for  herself;  believing  that  young  people 
brought  up  so  differently  as  ours  have  been,  never 
would  be  happy  together.  Besides,  Lucy's  feel- 
ings have  long  been  anything  but  affectionate 
towards  Prince  Charlie;  to  whom,  however,  I 
wish  all  happiness  and  prosperity.  I  am,  dear 
Sarah,  yours,  as  ever, 

Rebecca  Gregson. 

Mrs.  Browne  was  infinitely  annoyed  at  receiv- 
ing this  packet  and  note :  she  had  destroyed,  with 
great  energy  of  disgust,  her  copy  of  the  Compact, 
as  we  know,  above  a  week  ago.  She  wished 
sincerely  that  she  had  only  taken  time  about  it, 
and  been  cool,  like  jMrs.  Gregson ;  for  she  was 
conscious  of  an  exquisite  bitterness  in  tlie  way 
she  had  proceeded  in  the  afiair.  She  returned 
the  following  note: — 


98  THE    NEW    FRIEND. 

My  dear  Mus.  Gregson — I  am  happy  to  sec 
that  we  continue  to  think  alike,  on  tlie  more  im- 
portant topics  at  least.  I  have  long  since,  con- 
sidering the  great  alteration  which  so  many  years 
have  produced  in  our  respective  positions  in 
society,  given  up  the  idea  of  the  Family  Union — 
supposing,  of  course,  that  your  good  sense  had 
led  you  to  do  the  saivie. 

I  destroyed  my  copy  of  the  foolish  Compact 
long  since;  and  wish  now  I  had  apprized  you  of 
the  circumstance,  as  it  might  earlier  have  deter- 
mined you.  Periiaps,  however,  Mrs.  Barwell  may 
have  been  your  counsellor;  her  good  sense  wouid 
have  dictated  sucii  a  step. 

With  most  affectionate  wishes  for  your  happi- 
ness, and  that,  also,  of  your  whole  family,  I  am, 
dear  Mrs.  Gregson,  yours  sincerely, 

Wilton-street.  Oct  21st.  ^ARAH    Browne. 


The  verj'-  day  after  this  note  was  written, 
Colonel  and  Mrs.  Barwell  drove  to  the  Brownes'. 
At  that  time,  a  series  of  dinners  was  just  commenc- 
ing in  Woodburn.  It  was  the  on  dit  of  the  little 
town,  that  })arties  would  be  unusually  gay  and  large 
this  season,  in  compliment  to  the  new  residents  of 
(Nloreby  Lodge,  whom  everybody  seemed  disposed 
to  liotK)ur.  ^Ir.  and  INIrs.  Browne  were  intending 
to  give  a  dinner  and  grand  evening  party,  which 
should  eclipse  everything  of  the  kind,  arid  at  which 
everybody  who  was  anybody  was  to  be  invited, 
especially  as  Mrs.  Barwell  was  to  be  played  off  aa 
Mrs.  Browne's  old  and  dear  friend. 

The  Barwells,  as  we  said  above,  called  on  the 


THE    NEW    FRIEND.  99 

Brownes,  and  were,  of  course,  received  with 
every  mark  of  respect  and  cordiality.  The  servant 
was  ordered  to  inform  his  master  of  the  Colonel 
and  his  lady  being  there — Mrs.  Browne  not  failing 
to  inform  them  that  her  husband  seldom  left  his 
office  for  morning-callers,  but  that,  on  the  present 
occasion,  he  would  do  so  without  hesitation ;  accord- 
ingly he  came  in,  bowing  and  professing  himself 
honoured.  The  Barwells  apologized  for  taking  him 
from  more  important  business;  they  had  called, 
they  said,  merely  to  beg  their  company  to  dinner 
on  the  following  Monday.  "  A  very  unceremonious 
invitation  for  a  first  dinner,"  thought  both  husband 
and  wife;  but  both  declared,  in  one  breath,  that 
they  should  be  most  happy,  and  certainly  would 
have  that  honour. 

"  Quite  a  family  dinner,"  said  Colonel  Barwell, 
"  to  meet  some  friends  of  my  wife's — Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Gregson,  I  believe." 

Had  yir.  and  Mrs.  Browne  been  dropped  down 
at  once  from  a  seventh  heaven  into  a  snow-wreath, 
they  could  not  have  felt  a  greater  shock  than 
they  did  at  these  words;  yet,  although  chagrined 
beyond  measure,  they  both  still  spoke  of  "  great 
honour,"  and  "  great  pleasure." 

When  Mrs.  Barwell  saw  the  change  which 
passed  over  the  countenance  of  both  the  lawyer 
and  iiis  wife,  when  they  found  that  they  were 
invited  merely  to  dine  with  the  Gregsons,  she 
was  sure  the  evening  would  be  anything  but 
pleasant.  She  was  right;  for  Mrs.  Gregson  was 
no  better  pleased  to  meet  the  Brownes  than  they 
to  meet  with  her.  She  wished  to  keep  Mrs. 
Barwell's  friendship  all  to  herself;  and,  now  thai 


100  THE    RIVAL    HOUSES. 

the  breach  was  widening  between  herself  and  hef 
old  friend,  she  felt  jealous  of  any  attention  shown 
to  her  by  the  new.  All  was  coldness  and  con- 
straint. Mr.  Gregson  and  the  Colonel  alone,  got 
on  comfortably.  He  was,  as  Mrs.  Barwell  had 
said,  a  plain,  honest,  cordial-hearted  man,  without 
pretence  of  any  kind;  and  the  Colonel  found  him 
a  far  more  entertaining  companion  than  Mr. 
Browne,  who,  spite  of  all  his  money-getting,  still 
was  but  one  of  a  very  common  class. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE    RIVAL    HOUSES. 

There  was  no  longer  now  any  attempt  to  conceal 
Ihe  breach  between  the  two  houses;  that  dinner 
accomplished  more  than  many  months  of  ordinary 
intercourse  could  have  done.  The  Brownes  were 
infinitely  annoyed  to  be  placed  on  a  par  with  the 
Gregsons;  and  their  study  through  the  evening 
was  to  prove  their  superiority — to  prove  to  Mrs. 
Barwell  how  ill  she  had  assorted  her  guests; 
while  poor  Mrs.  Gregson,  whose  jealousy  was 
excited  by  equal  attention  being  shown  to  the 
Brownes,  was  out  of  humour,  and  in  every  way 
showed  to  the  least  advantage. 

When  the  evening  was  closed,  and  the  two 
ladies  retired  to  Mrs.  Barwell's  dressing-room  to 
put  on  their  bonnets  and  cloaks,  they  received  the 


THE    RIVAL    HOUSES.  101 

attentions  of  Mrs.  Barwell's  woman  with  thfe  moBt 
dignified  silence,  and,  without  exchanging  so  much 
as  a  word  with  each  other,  paired  off"  from  the 
Lodge  with  their  respective  husbands. 

No  sooner  was  Mrs.  Gregson  seated  beside  her 
husband  in  their  gig,  than  she  began — "  How 
disrespectful  of  the  Brownes  to  drive  off"  at  that 
rate,  as  if  we  should  poison  the  very  high  road ! 
They  are  the  most  upstart,  unbearable  people  in 
the  world!" 

"  Browne's  horse  is  so  much  swifter  than  ours, 
we  could  not  have  kept  up  with  them,"  said  Mr. 
Gregson. 

"  Then  they  might  have  kept  our  pace,  one 
would  think,"  said  his  wife;  "  if  it  had  been 
only  out  of  civility,  they  ought  to  have  done  it. 
Nothing  is  so  rude  as  to  dash  past  one  in  the  way 
they  did !  But,  did  not  you  think  the  evening 
very  stupid?" 

*'  No,"  said  Gregson,  with  the  most  provoking 
coolness;  "  I  enjoyed  it.  The  Colonel  is  a  very 
sensible  man." 

"  But,  did  you  ever  see  anything  like  those 
Brownes?"  persisted  she. 

"In  what  way?"  asked  her  husband. 

"  Oh,  in  every  way!"  returned  she;  "  dressed 
as  she  was  ! — just  as  if  to  out- blaze  Mrs.  Barwell 
herself.  I  should  really  like  to  know  how  many 
gowns  she  has  in  a  year  I — and  Browne  is  an  ill- 
looking,  very  mean-looking  man !  I  always  thought 
there  was  not  a  bit  of  the  gentleman  about  him  ; — 
so  different  to  Colonel  Barwell!" 

"  He  is  not  particularly  civil  k)  me  just  now,"  said 
Gregson :  "  I   have  displeased    him   by  pressing 


102  THE    RIVAL    HOUSES. 

for  the  repayment  of  that  money  :  but  his  civility 
or  incivility  is  of  very  little  consequence  to  me. 
You  ladies,  however,  seem  to  have  brought  your 
friendsliip  to  a  very  abrupt  termination,"  added 
he,  laughing, 

"  La!  George!"  exclaimed  his  wife;  "  don't 
say  a  word  to  me  about  friendship ! — I  shall  never 
endure  the  word  again  as  long  as  I  live.  I  have 
known,  for  years,  that  -we  were  not  at  all  of 
accordant  characters;  but  then,  it  was  an  old 
thing — it  had  become  almost  a  custom.  Her 
pride  and  her  arrogance,  however,  have  quite 
cured  me  now.  And  why  need  I  put  up  with  her 
airs  of  superiority  ?"  continued  she,  "  when  a  lady 
like  Mrs.  Barwell  solicits  my  friendship!" 

"  Only  don't  be  too  hot  about  this  new  friend- 
ship," said  her  husband;  "  and,  for  my  part,  I 
think  married  women  with  families  growing  up, 
ought  not  to  have  much  time  for  friendships  out 
of  their  own  houses." 

"  Now  that  is  ill-natured  of  you— very  ill- 
natured,  and  extremely  uncalled  for  too !"  said  ^Nlrs. 
Gregson;  and  then,  dropping  into  a  meditation  on 
the  increasing  chagrins  of  the  evening,  she  spoke 
not  another  word  till  they  reached  their  own 
door. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browne,  as  has  been  said,  dashed 
past  the  humbler  gig  w^hich  contained  the  Greg- 
sons,  in  very  grand  style. 

"  What  a  very  handsome  service  of  plate  that  is 
of  the  Barwells!"  said  Mrs.  Browne;  "  but  the 
dinner  was  nothing  extraordinai-y;  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  second  course  was  decidedly  bad." 

Mi.  Browne  made  no  reply;  he  was  looking  at 


THE    RIVAL    HOUSES.  103 

the  hasty  shadow  which,  in  passing,  they  flung 
upon  the  moonlight  bank  ;  but  he  was  thinking  on 
a  subject  that  vexed  him  greatly. 

'•'  Did  you  notice  the  chandelier  in  the  little 
drawing-room?"  asked  his  wife. 

Her  husband  replied  simply,  "  No." 

"  We  must  have  something  of  that  kind  in  our 
drawing-room,  before  we  have  our  party.  I  got 
the  address  from  Mrs.  Barwell — they  had  it  from 
London;  but  I  did  not  tell  her  that  I  wanted  one 
for  ourselves.  I  shall  not  let  a  creature  know  a 
word  about  it  till  it  is  up.  But,  bless  me!  what 
are  you  thinking  about?"  said  she,  as  her  husband 
still  drove  on  in  silence. 

"  I'm  provoked  beyond  measure,"  at  length 
said  he ;  "  I  thought  you  told  me  that  Gregson's 
circumstances  were  bad  I" 

"  To  be  sure,"'  returned  she;  "  Mrs.  Gregson 
herself  told  me  so — more  fool  she  for  talking  of 
such  things.  She  said  that  Gregson's  spirits,  and 
even  his  health  suffered,  in  consequence." 

"  Gregson  was  with  me  again  yesterday,  about 
that  money,"  said  Browne;  "  very  pressing  and 
disagreeable  he  was." 

"  I  thought  you  were  to  have  six  months 
notice,"  said  she. 

"  So  I  ought  to  have  had,"  replied  he;  "but 
it  seems  I  had  engaged — how  I  came  to  do  so,  I 
cannot  tell — to  pay  it  in  on  demand." 

"  Indeed  !"  exclaimed  she. 

"  He  brought  me  the  note-of-hand,  or  I  should 
not  have  believed  it,"  continued  Browne.  *'  I 
therefore,  supposing  of  course  that  his  circum- 
stances were  embarrassed,  let  him  have  five  liun- 


104  THE    RIVAL    HOUSES. 

(Ired  pounds,  M'hich  I  liappened  to  have  in  the 
office  at  that  moment;  and  then  came  a  demand 
for  five  years'  interest!" 

"  Two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds !"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Browne ;  '"  impossible  I  I  am  sure  the  interest 
was  regularly  paid." 

"  I  knew,"  continued  her  husband,  "  that  there 
Avas  two,  or  at  most  three  years'  interest  due;  but  1 
must  say,  five  seems  incredible.  However,  to 
that  he  stands,  and  most  insolently  he  behaved 
about  it." 

"  I  would  not  have  met  them  at  the  Barwells','* 
said  Mrs.  Browne,  "  had  I  known  it!  Five  years* 
interest! — impossible  ! 

"  Seven  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  however,'* 
said  Browne,  "  he  had  from  me  yesterday — I  sup- 
posing, all  the  time,  he  was  on  the  verge  of  bank- 
ruptcy;  and  what  do  you  think  comes  out  now?" 

"  I  really  cannot  tell,"  said  his  wife. 

*'  Thai  he  actually  is  in  treaty  for  the  Elms!'* 
exclaimed  he,  in  a  tone  which  said,  Can  anything 
exceed  that? 

"  The  Elms!"  almost  screamed  Mrs.  Browne; 
"  the  very  place  that  you  designed  for  yourself — 
for  which  you  have  already  drawn  the  writings. 
I'm  glad  1  did  not  speak  to  ^Irs.  Gregson  to-night. 
And  she  talk  of  poverty,  and  try  to  excite  my 
pity  !  A  deceitful,  double-faced  woman!  I  despise 
her!'  exclaimed  she,  in  bitter  energy.  "But, 
had  he  really  the  face  to  tell  you  about  it  himself?" 
asked  she,  a  few  seconds  afterwards. 

"  No,"  said  her  husband ;  "  I  should  have 
known  nothing  of  it,  but  from  Colonel  Barwell, 
wiio,  it  seems,  was  in  his  confidence." 


THE     RIVAL    HOUSES.  105 

*'  And  betrayed  it!"  said  Mrs.  Browne,  laugh- 
ing; "  now  that  is  capital." 

"  So  I  suppose,"  said  Browne,  "  for  he  looked 
prodigiously  foolish  at  first;  but  afterwards  he 
went  on  talking  about  it  in  the  most  absurd  way- 
possible.  I  suppose  it  is  to  be  his  country-seat: 
he  even  talked  of  the  fine  quantity  of  game  on  the 
land,  and  his  preserves !" 

"  How  perfectly  ridiculous  I"  exclaimed  his 
wife.  "  But  how  in  the  world  can  all  this  have 
been  done,  and  you  know  nothm^^of  it — you,  who 
were  to  have  been  the  purchaser?" 

"  Mordan  is  at  the  bottom  of  it,"  said  Browne; 
"  1  have  seen  him  and  Gregson  together  a  deal,  of 
late.  I  must  confess  that  1  am  provoked — ex- 
cessively provoked — especially  as  we  were  deceiveii 
with  that  miserable  })lea  of  poverty." 

"  I  see  now,"  said  Mrs.  Browne,  "  why  that 
woman  wore  that  old  gown  and  shawl.  I  wish  to 
goodne^s  we  had  had  nothing  to  do  with  them: 
they  owe  everything  to  us;  and  this  is  the  return 
they  make!  But,  thank  goodness!  we've  done 
with  the  Gregsons  now!" 

If  it  was  an  amazement  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browne, 
to  find  that  Mr.  Gregson  was  the  purchaser  of  the 
so-much-to-be-desired  estate,  called  the  Elms, 
with  its  villa-residence,  hot-houses,  walled  gar- 
dens, seven  acres  of  lawn  and  shrubbery,  and 
two  hundred  acres  of  fine  meadow  land,  with 
right  of  fishing,  and  preserves  for  game — iar 
greater  was  the  surprise  of  Mrs.  Gregson  hersdf, 
when  this  agreeable  fact  came  to  her  knowledj^e. 
On  one  particular  day  in  November,  Mr.  Greg?on 
came  into  the  parlour,  where  his  wife  and  daughter 


106  THE    RIVAL    HOUSES. 

were  sitting  at  their  work,  looking^  very  well 
pleased,  and  rubbing  liis  hands  together,  as  was 
his  fashion  \vhen  any  joke  was  lurking  in  his 
mind.  He  told  his  wife  that  he  wanted  her  to 
drive  out  with  him;  that  he  wished  she  would 
order  in  some  cold  meat,  and  let  them  take  an 
early  dinner,  for  that  he  wanted  to  be  off  in  hall 
an  hour.  Half  an  hour  is  a  short  time  for  a  ladj 
to  dress  and  eat  an  early  dinner  in;  and,  more 
over,  Mrs.  Gregson  often  required  a  good  deal  oi 
coaxing  to  induce  her  to  go  out  at  all ;  but  her 
husband  looked  so  good-humoured  on  this  par- 
ticular day,  and,  for  a  November  day,  it  was 
singularly  bright  and  pleasant;  and,  over  and 
above  all,  Mrs.  Gregson  had  a  new  velvet  bonnet, 
and  a  very  handsome  cloak  trimmed  with  fur, 
which  had  been  ordered  since  her  quarrel  M'ith 
Mrs.  Browne,  and  which  she  was  not  at  all  disin- 
clined to  wear,  more  especially  as  there  was  a  large 
head  to  the  gig,  capable  of  defending  her  hand- 
some apparel  from  the  weather,  even  if  it  changed. 
-She  did  not,  therefore,  make  any  objection  to 
ordering  in  the  cold  meat,  nor  to  being  ready  to 
set  out  in  half  an  hour,  although  she  had  no  idea 
where  they  wei'e  going. 

Gregson  did  not  make  his  wife  his  confidant  in 
weighty  matters,  nor  yet  in  trivial  ones :  it  was 
his  way  to  keep  his  concerns  entirely  to  himself ; 
it  is  the  way  of  many  husbands,  and  a  bad  way  it 
is.  In  consequence,  therefore,  Mrs.  Gregson 
often  drew  very  wrong  inferences,  and  formed 
very  erroneous  opinions;  as,  for  instance,  when 
she  stated  to  Mrs.  Browne  that  he  had  experienced 
losses  in  trade,  and  that  his  mind  was  troubled  in 


THE     RIVAL    HOUSES.  10? 

consequence:  which  statements  being  proved  to 
be  false,  naturally  excited  Mrs.  Browne  still  mtire 
against  her. 

Away  drove  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gregson,  on  their 
v\'ay  to  the  Elms,  having  the  hap  to  meet 
Mrs.  Browne,  driven  by  her  well-appointed  ser- 
vant, scarcely  one  hundred  yards  from  the  green 
gates  which  led  up  to  the  house.  Very  cold 
indeed  was  the  momentary  greeting  which  the 
ladies  exchanged  in  their  rapid  transit;  for  Mr. 
Gregson,  being  in  such  unusually  good  spirits, 
drove  very  fast  himself  that  day.  Mrs.  Browne 
knew  that  Gregson  had  bought  the  Elms,  although 
his  wife  did  not;  and,  supposing  that  they  were 
on  their  way  to  the  place,  felt  as  if  they  had 
committed  the  unpardonable  sin — never  thinking 
of  the  day  when  she  and  Browne,  with  a  thousand 
pounds  ot'  Gregson's  money  in  their  pocket,  went 
first  to  look  at  the  great  house  in  Wilton-street 

"  Are  you  going  here?"  asked  Mrs.  Gregson, 
as  the  green  gates  were  suddenly  opened  by  a  little 
boy,  who  had  been  stationed  at  them  for  more 
than  an  hour,  by  Gregson's  orders:  I  thought  no 
one  was  living  here." 

Gregson  smiled  to  himself,  but  said  nothing; 
while  his  wife,  satisfying  herself  that  her  husband 
had  business  there,  sedulously  admired  the  ever- 
greens and  the  red  berries  of  the  mountain-ash, 
which  were  conspicuous  in  the  well-grown  shrub- 
berries.  A  man,  who  seemed  to  be  waiting  for 
them  on  the  drive,  neared  the  door  as  they 
approached,  and,  very  submissively  touching  his 
hat,  placed  himself  at  the  horse's  head  the  mo- 
ment Mr.  Gregson  drew  up  at  the  door. 
10 


108  THE    RIVAL    HOUSES. 

"  I  would  rather  wait  here  till  you  have  finished 
your  business,"  said  Mrs.  Gregson,  as  her  hus- 
band held  forth  his  hand  to  assist  her  to  alight. 

"  No,  no;  I  want  you  within,"  said  he,  accom- 
panying iiis  words  with  a  very  comical  smile. 

Mrs.  Gregson  accordingly  alighted,  and,  her 
husband  giving  her  his  arm,  they  entered  the 
house  together,  she  wondering,  the  while,  at  all 
this  unwonted  ceremony. 

"  This  is  a  pretty  house,"  said  her  husband, 
when  he  had  hurried  her  through  the  lowei 
apartments,  scarcely  giving  her  time  to  notice 
anything,  "  and  a  very  convenient  one;  pleasant 
views,  too,  from  the  parlour  windows;  and  the 
bed-rooms  so  airy  and  cheerful;  good  attics  too — 
excellent  attics ;  good  enough  for  anybody  to 
sleep  in !" 

"  Why,  really,  Gregson,  you  might  have  the 
place  to  sell,"  said  his  wife ;  "  what  are  we  come 
for?" 

"  Would  you  not  like  such  a  parlour — drawing- 
room  I  suppose  you  would  call  it — as  this?"  said 
he,  leading  her  into  a  beautiful  drawing-room  on 
the  first  floor.  You  would  almost  outdo  Mrs. 
Browne  in  a  room  like  this;  a  piano  for  Lucy 
would  look  well  standing  there — would  it  not?" 

"How  you  talk!"  exclaimed  his  wife;  "it's 
quite  tantalizing!  You  know  we  never  could 
afford  a  house  like  this; — why,  Sir  Henry  Forrester 
was  qui4;e  one  of  the  first  county  gentry!" 

"  And  so  you  don't  think  we  could  afford  it?" 
said  he;  "well,  perhaps  we  couldn't;  but  1  want 
you  to  see  the  bed-rooms  before  we  go." 

Mrs.  Grigsun  thought  her  hiis))and  very  odd; 


THE    RIVAL    HOUSES,  100 

and,  still  wondering  whatever  he  meant,  followed 
him  from  room  to  room.  At  length  they  came 
down  stairs  again,  and  into  the  pleasant  little 
breakfast  parlour,  where  a  fire  was  burning,  and 
two  old  chairs,  which  had  been  left  after  the  sale, 
standing.  "  Now  sit  down,"  said  Mr.  Gregson, 
seating  himself  in  great  ease,  and  pointing  to  the 
other,  which  he  had  just  dusted  with  his  pocket 
handkerchief — for  he  was  not  unobservant  of  his 
wife's  new  cloak — "and  tell  me  how  you  like  this 
house  I " 

"What  nonsense  I  Gregson,"  said  his  wife;  '^tho 
house  is  very  well;  but  it  can  never  signify  any- 
thing to  us." 

"  But,  Rebecca,"  said  he,  "  suppose  I  were 
thinking  of  buying  it,  should  you  like  to  live 
here?" 

"  To  be  sure  I  should  like  it,  of  all  things!" 
replied  she. 

"  Well,  then,  here  you  shall  live ! "  exclaimed 
he,  "  for  the  house  is  mine  I — I've  bought  it,  and 
paid  for  it! "' 

"  You  don't  say  so ! "  exclaimed  his  wife. 

"  It's  as  tru3  as  that  my  name  is  Gregson!" 
said  he.  "  Fifteen  thousand  five  hundred  pounds 
have  I  paid  down  for  this  place ! " 

"  You !  "  returned  she — "  you,  that  I  thought 
had  had  losses — that  I  fancied  was  out  of  nealth 
from  anxiety  about  money-matters — have  you 
laid  out  more  than  fifteen  thousand  pounds  on  a 
country-house — with  five  children-^four  of  them 
boys!  Oil,  for  shame!  And  you  let  me  M-ear 
my  old  gowns  till  I  was  the  town's  talk — till  that 
wretch,  Mrs.  Browne,  taunted  me  about  my  shabby 


no  THE    RIVAL    HOUSES. 

dress! — and  you,  all  the  time,  had  plenty,  and 
could  be  laving  out  your  fifteen  thousand  \vithout 
saying  a  word  of  it  to  me  I " 

"  So!  so!  "  said  he — "  don't  be  out  of  humour, 
now,  or  I  shall  be  sorry  I  bought  the  place  at  all. 
I  thought  you  Avould  have  been  delighted,  and 
that  I  should  have  had  thanks  at  least;"  and  Mr. 
Gregson  got  up  from  the  chair  on  which  he  wa« 
sitting. 

"  Well,  I  must  confess,"  replied  his  wife,  "  that 
I  am  a  little  vexed  that  you  never  said  a  word  to 
me  about  it.  I  don't  like  people  doing  things  in 
that  close  way.  But,  now  the  secret's  i»ut,  and  I 
know  that  you  have  plenty  of  money,  I'll  dross 
handsomely,  if  it's  only  for  the  credit  of  the 
family ! " 

*'  Why,  what  would  you  have?"  asked  Greg- 
son,  just  on  the  verge  of  ill-humour — "  had  you 
not  twelve  guineas  from  me,  only  the  other  day, 
for  a  cloak  and  bonnet?  But,  upon  my  soul, 
women  are  the  most  unreasonable  creatuies  on 
the  face  of  the  earth,  else  that  might  have  satis- 
fied you,  one  might  think!" 

"  Oh  yes,  that  was  very  good,  very  handsome 
of  you,"  said  she,  beginning  to  mollify  as  soon  as 
she  sav  her  husband's  anger  mounting  to  his 
brow;  "  and  I'm  sure  I'm  quite  delighted  with 
this  place,  only  I  can  hardly  believe  it  is  ours; 
and  I  must  just  run  up  stairs  again,  to  look  at  the 
rooms — it  will  all  seem  so  different,  now  I  know  it 
is  ours — and  I  want  to  see  if  there  are  any  good 
cupboards — I'm  sure  there  are,  though,  for  I 
noticed  them!" 

Gregson  stood  at  the  hall-door,  battling  with  the 


THE    RIVAL    HOUSES.  Ill 

ill-humour  which  had  clouded  his  mind,  while  his 
wifewentalone  from  room  to  room,  growing  prouder 
at  every  step,  a.id  thinking  with  herself,  tliat  now 
she  would  outshin<  Mrs.  Browne;  that  now  she 
would  give  grand  pa-^ties,  and  have  a  servant  in 
livery,  and  consume  with  envy  the  heart  of  her 
quondam  friend. 

Wonderful  things  happen  every  now  and  then, 
to  give  the  world  something  to  talk  about.  The 
French  Revolution  was  a  grand  topic;  so  were 
the  wars  of  Napoleon  Buonaparte.  Luddisn; 
formerly,  and  Chartism  now,  may  do  for  awhile^: 
a  comet,  the  north-west  passage,  an  interesting 
murder,  or  the  Will  of  some  eccentric  old  money- 
saver,  all  serve  as  excitements  to  keep  the  public 
mind  Irom  stagnating.  So  happened  it  in  the 
little  world  of  Woodburn.  From  time  to  time 
some  salutary  wonder  occurred,  whereon  the 
public  curiosity  was  fed,  and  thus  prevented  from 
dying  of  inanition.  It  had  been  a  world's  wonder 
when  the  Brownes  removed  into  Wilton-street: 
the  extraordinary  friendship  of  the  two  ladies,  and 
the  affiancing  of  the  young  son  and  daughter,  had 
been  a  profitable  subject  also.  So  had  been  the 
coming  of  the  new  people  to  Moreby  Lodge;  the 
breach  between  the  old  friends;  and  the  whispered 
rumour  which  had  justgot  abroad,  that  Mr.  Gregson 
was  embarrassed  in  his  circumstances:  but  greater 
than  all  was  the  wonder  and  the  talk,  when  it  was 
told  that  Mr.  Gregson  himself  was  the  purchaser 
of  the  Elms — a  place  desired  by  so  many.  Not  a 
party  met  in  Woodburn,  either  for  dinner,  tea,  or 
cards,  at  which  this  subject  was  not  introduced, 
and  fully  descanted  upon.     It  was  talked  of  in 


112  THE     RIVAL    HOUSES. 

tlie  butclior's  shop,  and  in  the  barber's;  and, 
wherever  Mrs.  G reason  went  for  tlie  next  month 
— and  she  did  not  stay  within  doors,  by  any 
means  as  nujcii  as  she  had  been  accustomed  to — 
was  she  conixratulated  upon  her  husband's  pur- 
chase. "  Wlien  do  you  go  to  your  beautiful 
place,  Mrs.  Gregson?"  said  one;  and,  "  Will  you 
allow  us  to  walk,  through  your  beautiful  grounds, 
Mrs.  Gregson?"  said  another;  whilst  upholsterer 
and  furnishing  ironmonger  came  across  the  street, 
hat  in  hand,  begging,  if  she  had  five  minutes  to 
spare,  that  she  would  do  them  the  favour  to  walk 
in  and  look  at  something  very  new  or  beautiful 
which  they  would  show;  and  that,  even  if  such 
things  were  not  wanted  at  the  Elms,  they  were 
sure  she  would  be  pleased,  and  they  would  be 
honoured.  Sec.  &c. 

Mrs.  Gregson  was  a  woman  to  be  flattered  by 
these,  by  no  means  disinterested  marks  of  atten- 
tion; and,  waking  or  sleeping,  the  Elms,  with  the 
dignity  it  conferred,  and  the  means  of  successful 
rivalry  which  it  would  aiford,  was  never  out  of 
iier  mind. 

Whilst  Mrs.  Gregson  was  thus  happily  occupy- 
ing her  thoughts,  Mrs.  Browne  was  making  pre- 
paration ior  her  grand  party.  Invitations  were 
issued  three  weeks  beforehand;  a  house-decorator 
was  sent  for  from  London ;  a  distinguished  French 
cook,  it  was  rumoured,  was  engaged  for  the  occa- 
sion ;  the  various  coachmen  and  carriers  brought 
in  large  boxes  and  hampers,  labelled  "glass,"  and 
ordered  to  be  taken  "  with  care ;"  so  that  evidences 
of  preparation  were  sufficiently  visible  to  keep  the 
Brownes'  diimer  and  evening  party  in  the  mind  of 


THE    RIVAL    HOUSES.  113 

everybody.  Martin,  Mrs.  Browne's  woman,  also 
communicated  to  her  confidantes,  that  her  mistress 
had  a  new  velvet  dress,  with  a  plume  of  ostricii- 
featliers  for  her  head,  and  a  new  and  very  costly 
suit  of  pearls  come  down  from  London ;  so  that 
not  even  the  Queen  of  England  could  look  bettei 
than  she  would;  for  her  mistress,  she  said,  was 
very  handsome — everj'body  said  so,  who  saw  hei 
in  full  dress. 

Tiie  important  day  at  length  came.  The  new 
chandelier  was  hung,  and  looked  splendidly ;  every- 
body who  was  invited,  failed  not  to  be  there 
There  were  theSykesWilloughbys;  the  Jenningses, 
male  and  female ;  the  three  gentlemen  who  so 
many  years  before,  as  we  related  in  a  former 
chapter,  stood  on  the  bowling-green  of  the  Red 
Lion,  talking  over  Mr.  Browne's  earlier  prospects; 
and  there  were  also  two  of  the  ladies — the  other 
two  being  dead — who,  that  same  day,  interrupted 
their  game  at  whist,  to  discuss  Mrs.  Browne's 
appearance  at  church.  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Barwell 
of  course  were  there,  the  latter  splendidly  dressed — 
"  proving,"  as  Mrs.  Browne  said,  "that  she  knew 
what  was  due  to  the  occasion."  There  were  also 
the  rich  county-banker,  and  his  wife  and  daughters; 

a    ^Ir.  Serjeant ,   from    London,  and    three 

barristers ;  besides  all  the  families  of  any  note, 
for  many  miles  round  Woodburn.  How  the  house 
in  Wilton-street  held  them  all  was  a  wonder;  but 
everything  was  admirably  arranged,  everybody 
said;  and  everybody  said,  at  the  same  time,  that 
Mr.  Browne's  income  ought  to  be  very  good 
indeed,  to  support  their  style  of  living. 


114  THE    RIVAL    H0USS8. 

It  was  on  this  evening  that  Mrs.  Barwell  saw, 
for  the  first  time,  "  the  Bonnie  Prince  Charlie," 
or  rather  Charles  Edward  Browne,  now  grown  a 
tall,  manly  youtli.  She  had  considerable  curiosity 
about  him,  from  his  early  connexion  with  her 
friend,  Lucy  Gregson;  and,  from  what  Lucy's 
mother  had  said,  was  not  at  all  disposed  to  think 
favourably  of  him. 

"  Who  is  the  young  man  with  the  fine  coan- 
tenance  and  brown  hair,  that  has  just  entered?" 
said  she  to  Mrs.  Browne,  as  they  were  sitting 
together,  a  few  minutes  before  dinner?  Mrs. 
Browne  looked  delighted.  "  Allow  me  the  honour 
of  introducing  him.  I  did  not  notice  that,  he  had 
entered." 

The  introduction  was  made.  This,  then,  was 
the  "  Bonnie  Prince,"  of  whom  such  ridiculous 
stories  had  been  told.  His  countenance  was 
unquestionably  good ;  nor  were  his  manners  to 
be  objected  to.  Mrs.  Barwell  studied  him  then 
attentively  through  the  evening,  for  indications  of 
rlisposition  and  character,  and  her  final  decision 
was  much  less  favourable  than  the  first  impression 
had  been.  It  was  in  vain  that  his  mother  besought 
him,  by  bints  and  looks,  to  pay  attention  to  the 
daughters  of  the  less  dignified  guests,  or  to  dance 
with  certain  ladies,  who  had  been  seated  all  the 
evening.  '•  He  wants  benevolence;  he  is  assum- 
ing and  selfish,"  said  she  to  herself.  "  Mrs. 
Gregson  was  not  altogether  wrong;  I  am  glad 
that  the  Family  Compact  was  put  an  end  to!" 

When  Mrs.  Gregson  next  saw  Mrs.  Barwell, 
•he  eagerly  inquired  for  news  of  this  important 


THE    RIVAL    HOUSES.  115 

night.  "  Only  to  think,"  said  she,  "  of  them 
figuring  away  in  this  style  !  If  they  were  the  first 
nobility  they  could  do  no  more!" 

"  If  they  were  only  the  first  gentry,"  returned 
Mrs.  Harwell,  "  they  would  do  a  deal  less ;  the 
effort  would  not  be  visible,  by  which  all  this  is 
done.  It  is  the  straining  every  power — the  ten- 
sion of  mind  and  means — which  makes  entertain- 
ments of  this  extravagant  kind  in  the  middle 
classes  so  painful — so  melancholif ^  I  think!  If 
they  would  but  use  their  common  sense,  and  live 
according  to  their  means,  instead  of  aping  and 
trying  even  to  surpass  their  wealthier  fellow-sub- 
jects, what  a  different  class  they  might  be! — and 
how  much  happier!" 

"  But  surely,"  said  Mrs.  Gregson — in  whose 
mind  the  desire  to  give  great  entertainments  was 
beginninjj^  to  develope  itself — "  surely,  people  of 
the  middle  classes  have  as  much  right  as  the 
higher  to  see  and  entertain  their  friends!" 

"  Unquestionably,"  said  Mrs.  Barwell;  "but, 
unfortunately,  they  are  so  seldom  willing  to  enter- 
tain those  who  are  capable  of  being  their  friends; 
they  are  always  striving  after  the  acquaintance  of 
the  class' above  them,  and  that  very  class  which 
will  not  be  their  friends,  and  emulating  them  in 
expense.  How  absurd  it  is! — because  they  pos- 
sess every  means  of  becoming  as  refined,  as  intel- 
lectual, as  capable  of  enjoying  the  most  elevated 
pleasures,  as  the  very  highest !  Why,  then,  do 
they  not  ?  and  make  their  own  class,  with  its  inde- 
pendence of  conventionality,  what  it  might  be — 
the  very  happiest  class  in  society." 

"Well,  I  am  sure  I  don't  know,"  was  Mra, 


116  THE    RIVAL    HOUSES. 

Gregson's  unargumentative   reply.    "  Don't  yon 

suppose,  then,"  asked  she,  the  moment  after,  "that 
Mrs.  Browne's  entertainment  gave  her  ^ny  plea- 
sure?" 

"  I  do  not  believe,"  said  Mrs.  Barwell,  "  that 
she  had  half  tlie  satisfaction  in  her  entertainment, 
although  it  cost  so  much,  and  her  rooms  were  so 
complett'ly  filled,  as  my  good  uncle  and  aunt  used 
to  have,  when  their  half-dozen  old  friends  came 
to  take  tea  with  them  at  six,  and  eat  a  slice  of 
seed-cake,  and  drink  a  glass  of  good  wine — for  the 
old  man  was  very  choice  in  his  wine — at  nine, 
and  away  again  at  ten." 

"  I  am  sick  of  that  old  uncle  and  aunt,"  thought 
Mrs.  Gregson. 

"  No,"  continued  Mrs.  Barwell,  without,  of 
course,  knowing  her  companion's  thoughts,  "there 
was  more  cordial  enjoyment — more  real  heart  and 
good  fellowship,  in  the  meeting  of  those  quiet, 
undignified  people,  who  were  capable,  neverthe- 
less, of  discussing,  and  well  too,  the  topics  of  the 
day,  literature  included,  than  in  all  the  racket  and 
show  of  common  entertainments.  There  was  a 
vacuum,  too,  in  that  little  society,  when  my  good 
uncle  and  aunt  died,  which  never  could  be  filled 
up ;  and  I  am  convinced  that  those  old  friends 
never  met,  without  talking  of  those  whom  they 
had  lost,  and  drinking  a  cup  of  good  fellowship  to 
their  memory.  On  the  contrary,  in  society  such 
as  this,  which  constitutes  the  hon-ton  of  VVood- 
burn,  and  at  the  head  of  which  is  our  friend 
Mrs.  Browne " 

*'  Don't  call  her  my  friend,"  interrupted  Mrs. 
Gregson. 


THE    RIVAL     HOUSES.  11^ 

**  Well,  as  you  please  about  that,"  said  Mrs, 
Barwell.  *'  What  I  would  insist  upon  is,  that 
there  can  be  no  sympathy — no  at!ection — no 
friendship — in  society  composed  of  such  elements 
as  met  last  week.  If  the  Brownes  were  to  die 
to-morrow,  or,  which  is  more  likely,  to  ruin 
themselves  in  behoof  of  those  with  whom  they 
wish^  to  associate,  none  would  pity  them — none 
would  open  their  doors  to  receive  them  !' 

"  Nor  would  they  for  others,  in  a  similar  case," 
said  Mrs.  Gregson. 

"  To  be  sure  not,"  replied  ]\Irs.  Barwell;  "that 
would  be  expecting  too  much  from  society,  as  it 
is  now  constituted.  For  what  do  those  conmion 
herds  of  people  meet  together?  Not  for  friend- 
ship, or  any  moral  improvement — or  the  enjoy- 
ment of  conversation — or  fine  music — or  any 
rational  pleasure  whatever;  but  to  see  how  good 
a  dinner  a  certain  person  can  set  out;  what  know- 
ledge he  has  of  wine;  what  is  his  show  of  plate; 
what  number  of  servants  he  keeps ;  how  he 
dresses :  and,  on  the  entertainer's  part,  not  how 
much  positive  happiness  he  can  give  his  guests, 
but  how,  by  all  possible  means,  he  may  surpass  any 
similai  entertainment  given  by  any  of  his  ac(|uaint- 
ance.  I  am  not,  by  any  means,  an  uncharitable 
person;  on  the  contrary,  I  generally  ascribe  the 
best  motives  to  every-day  actions,  and  my  sym- 
pathies are  almost  universal;  but  these  things  are 
to  .  barefaced  for  nie  to  be  deceived  by  thenj." 

"  I'm  sure  I  shall  never  venture  to  ask  you  to 
a  party  at  the  Elms;  and  yet,  you  know,  we  shall 
be  expected  to  give  parties  there,  quite  different 
to  anything  in  Bridge-street." 


118  THE    RIVAL    HOUSES. 

"In  the  matter  of  parties  at  the  Elrr.s,"  said 
Mrs.  Barwell,  "  do,  my  dear  Mrs.  Gregson,  let 
me  be  your  good  angel.  Do  not  attempt  to  out- 
shine >AIrs.  Browne,  nor  eve»  to  vie  with  her,  be- 
cause your  husband  has  bought  that  pretty  place, 
and  may  probably  disconnect  himself  from  trade." 

"  No — that  he  never  will,"  interrupted  Mrs. 
Gregson:  "I  wish  he  would!  I  am  sure  he  is^very 
rich;  but  he  is  so  close  about  money-matters!" 

"  But  why  should  he* disconnect  himself  with 
trade?"  asked  her  friend.  "Your  elder  sons  are 
now  growing  up  to  take  part  with  him  in  busi- 
ness— to  allow  their  father  occasional  leisure; 
but,  depend  upon  it,  a  man  accustomed  from  his 
youth  upwards  to  business,  is  never  so  happy 
as  when  reasonably  employed  by  it.  Besides, 
Mr.  Gregson  is  not  old  enough  to  retire  yet;  nor 
his  sons  old  enough,  or  experienced  enough,  to 
conduct  the  business  themselves.  In  ten  or  fifteen 
years,  when  they  are  married,  and  begin  to  under- 
stand what  responsibility  really  is,  then  advise 
Mr.  Gregson  to  retire  from  business,  and  to  take 
to  gardening  or  farming,  or  to  sink  down,  if  he 
like  it  better,  into  the  quiet  old  gentleman.  But 
for  Heaven's  sake,  my  dear  friend,  do  not  think 
of  rivalling  Mrs.  Browne :  the  effect  upon  your 
children  would  be  lamentable!  But  perhaps  I 
have  already  said  too  much,"  added  she,  observing 
a  change  pass  over  Mrs.  Gregson's  countenance. 
*'  If  I  have  wounded  your  feelings  in  any  way,  I 
sincerely  regret  it;  for  I  have  a  deep  interest 
both  in  you  and  your  children,  and  I  earnestly 
wish  them  well — Lucy  especially:  she  may  be 
made  a  noble  character  1" 


THE   RIVAL     HOUSES.  119 

Mrs.  Gregson  laid  her  hand  on  her  friend's  arm, 
really  touched  by  what  she  had  said  of  the 
children.  *'  No,  I  am  not  offended,"  she  said; 
"  I  Mould  not  be  offended  by  anything  you 
might  say;  but  I  would  not  for  the  world  that 
Gregson  heard  all  you  say;  he  seems  to  have 
misgivings,  now  he  has  bought  the  place!  He 
talks  of  letting  it;  he  has  let  the  land,  you  know. 
And,  only  think  what  a  coming  down  that  would 
be,  not  to  go  there  after  all  that  has  been  said 
about  it;  M'hat  a  triumph  it  would  be  to  Mrs. 
Browne  I" 

"  Never  mind  Mrs.  Browne,"  said  Mrs.  Bar* 
well,  laughing;  "  you  really  make  that  poor  lady 
of  too  much  consequence  I  But,  depend  upon  it, 
you  will  go  to  the  Ehiis  after  all!" 

"  I  doubt  it,"  said  Mrs.  Gregsoi]. 

"  Trust  me,"  replied  her  friend,  "  as  tlie  spring 
comes  on,  and  your  husband  sees  how  sweet  it 
looks  when  the  leaves  are  out,  and  the  garden  in 
order,  he  will  be  as  impatient  to  get  there  as 
yourself." 

"  So  I  said  the  other  day,"  returned  she,  "  and 
we'd  quite  a  quarrel  about  it." 

*'  That  was  a  pity!  '  said  Mrs.  Barwell;  "but, 
for  the  future,  do  not  say  too  much  on  the  subject. 
Leave  everything  to  work  its  own  course,  and  I 
shall  be  wonderfully  deceived  in  Mr.  Gregson  if 
klJ  be  not  as  you  wish." 
11 


120 

% 

CHAPTER   XL 

WHO    SHALL    BE    GREATEST? 

The  sprlnj^  came  on  singularly  early,  and  with 
unusual  beauty.  The  shrubbery  at  tlie  Elms  was 
full  of  spring  flowers,  and  Mr.  Gregson,  who, 
through  the  winter,  as  his  wife  had  said,  was  filled 
with  misgivings  about  his  bargain,  and  reluc- 
tance to  give  up  his  old  habits,  to  assume  a  higher 
style  of  living,  although  to  rank  a  step  higher  in 
society,  no  sooner  saw  the  violet-bed  sprinkled 
with  its  white  and  blue  flowers — no  sooner  scented 
the  first  waft  of  sweet-briar  odour,  than  he  was 
filled  witii  an  insatiable  longing  to  become  a 
dweller  in  the  country.  He  walked  rapidly  through 
the  grounds;  he  then  sauntered  quietly  about; 
gathered  the  violets  with  all  the  eagerness  of  a 
school-boy,  and  peeped  into  the  hedges  and  bushes 
of  laurustinus,  and  into  the  low  boughs  of  the 
young  firs,  to  see  if  there  were  yet  any  birds'-nests. 
All  at  once,  he  thought  how  delighted  his  young 
people  would  be  to  be  there — to  live  there.  He 
had  damped  all  their  hopes  in  the  winter;  he  had 
even  been  angry  when  they  had  called  the  Elms 
pleasanter  than  Bridge-street.  It  is  wonderful 
what  influence  the  first  breaking  out  of  spring — 
young,  generous,  genial  spring — has  upon  our 
moral  being.  Mr.  Gregson  wondered  he  had  never 
thought  of  the  pleasure  his  children  would  have 
there  before;  of  the  pleasant  relaxation  it  would 
be  to  the  elder,  after  business;  what  a  sweet  and 
proper  home  for  Lucy,  now  so  womanly  in  her 


WHO    SHALL     BE     GREATEST?  121 

appearance,  and  so  very  pretty  too;  to  say  nothing 
of  the  happy  holidays  the  younj^  boys  might  spend 
there.  He  reproached  himself  fur  having  been 
selfish;  he  wondered  no  longer  at  his  wife's 
reluctance  to  give  it  up ;  gathered  another  bunch 
of  violets  ;  took  another  whiff  of  sweet-briar  odour, 
and  then  walked  on  rapidly  to  talk  to  the  gardener 
about  the  green-house  and  vines,  and  tell  him, 
that  as  the  family  would  be  there  early  in  the 
season,  he  must  prepare  his  garden-crops.  He 
next  ordered  the  labourer  to  take  down  the  board 
which  announced  that  the  place  wanted  a  tenant; 
and  then,  giving  the  man  a  shilling,  rode  home  in 
good  humour,  botii  with  himself  and  all  the  world. 

Mrs.  Gregson  needed  no  pressing  to  become 
mistress  of  the  Elms;  her  husband's  impatience 
equalled  her  own :  they  therefore,  that  same 
evening,  walked  into  the  town  to  order  Mr. 
Stirrup,  a  man  of  universal  business,  to  meet 
tiiem  the  next  morning  at  the  Elms,  to  consider 
what  was  first  to  be  done,  in  order  that  the 
removal  might  take  place  as  early  as  possible. 
Great  pleasure  indeed  had  Mrs.  Gregson  in  com- 
municating this  intelligence  to  ]Mr.  Stirrup,  for 
thus  she  knew  it  would  not  be  long  before  it 
reached  the  people  in  Wilton-street — Mr.  Stirrup 
being  always  employed  fur  them,  in  one  way  or 
other,  either  to  rectify  Venetian  blinds,  to  cure 
a  smoky  chimney,  or  to  correct  some  new 
cooking  apparatus,  or  fifty  other  little  jobs — he 
being,  as  ^Irs.  Browne  had  often  said,  her  right- 
hand  man. 

That  very  night,  Mr.  Stirrup  having  to  take 
home   a  patent    coffee-pot   which    had    leaked 


!22  WHO  SHALL  be  greatest? 

informed  Mrs.  Browne  of  tlie  intended  change; 
and,  while  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gregson,  after  tea,  were 
eagerly  talking  it  over,  I\Ir.  and  Mrs.  Browne  like- 
wise, after  their  dinner,  were  talking  it  over  too. 

"  And  so  the  Gregsons  are  really  going  to  the 
Elms  at  last,"  said  Mrs.  Browne,  an  hour  later  in  the 
same  evening,  to  Mrs.  Jennings  and  her  daughter 
Harriet,  now  approaching  the  meridian  of  life, 
with  w  horn  she  was  taking  her  coffee. 

"  We  have  hitherto  visited  at  the  Elms,"  said 
Mrs.  Jennings:  "we  knew  the  Jukeses  intimately; 
and  Sir  Henry  Forrester,  who  built  it,  was  my 
cousin.  It  would  make  him  come  out  of  his 
grave,  if  he  knew  that  his  pet  place,  over  which 
he  spent  so  much  taste  and  so  much  money,  had 
gone  to  the  Gregsons!  Bless  me,  what  changes 
there  have  been  in  Woodburn  since  those  days!" 

Both  Mrs.  Browne  and  Miss  Harriet  Jennings 
thought  it  as  well  that  the  old  lady  should  not 
particularize  all  the  changes  which  Woodburn  had 
seen  in  the  last  twenty  years;  therefore  that  subject 
was  dropped. 

"  Have  you  heard,"  said  Mrs.  Browne,  "  of 
the  death  of  .Major  Barwell,  the  Colonel's  brother?" 

The  ladies  had,  but  they  solicited  any  further 
particulars. 

"  The  Major,"  said  Mrs.  Browne,  "  has,  I 
understand,  left  one  daughter;  but  where  she  is 
I  do  not  know;  nor  does  anybody,  that  I  can 
find.  The  Major,  it  seems,  left  by  will  forty 
thousand  pounds,  to  be  laid  out  in  landed  property 
for  his  daughter.  She  is  to  be  such  a  great 
heiress,  and  will  inhert,  it  is  said,  all  the  Coloner» 
property  I " 


WHO    SHALL    BE     GREATEST?  123 

"  Unless,"  said  Mrs  Jennings,  "  it  is  left  to 
that  Miss  Gregson;  for  they  tell  me  that  she  is 
as  much  at  Moreby  Lodge  as  at  her  own  home." 

"  It's  quite  absurd,"  said  jMrs.  Browne,  "  the 
way  they  have  taken  to  that  girl.  I  met  the 
carriage  yesterday,  and  there  she  was,  stuck  up 
Oeside  Mrs.  Barwell,  with  feathers  in  her  hat!" 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Miss  Jennings,  "  she  is  quite 
assuming  the  young  lady." 

"  We  shall  have  her  corning  out  in  the  winter,'" 
said  Mrs.  Browne,  "  chaperoned,  of  course,  by 
Mrs.  Barwell." 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Miss  Jennings,  "  that 
mamma  took  her  the  other  day  for  Miss  Wilmot, 
Mrs.  Sykes  Willoughby's  beautiful  niece,  and 
asked  after  her  aunt  and  the  young  ladies  !"' 

"  Upon  my  word,  I  did,"  said  Mrs.  Jennings. 
'"'  There  she  was,  in  Mason's  shop,  buying  lace — 
dressed  beautifully.  And,  whether  it  was  that  the 
bonnet  gave  her  the  look,  or  whether  she  imitates 
Miss  Wilmot,  or  whether  my  sight  is  not  so  good 
as  it  was,  I  can't  say;  but  certainly  I  did  take 
her  for  Miss  Wilmot;  and  a  great  compliment  it 
was,  for  Miss  Wilmot  is  beautiful.  She  was  then 
with  Mrs.  Barwell,"  continued  the  old  lady; 
"  and,  '  I  beg  your  pardon,'  said  I,  as  soon  as  I 
saw  Mrs.  Barwell,  '  I  thought  you  were  a  young 
lady  I  knew:  I  mistook  her,'  said  I  to  Mrs.  Bar- 
well,  '  for  Miss  Wilmot.'  '  You  are  not  the 
first  person  who  has  done  so,'  said  Mrs.  Barwell ; 
'I  myself  think  them  very  like,  but  Lucy  Gregson 
has  rather  the  advantage  in  height.'  " 

"  Lucy  Gregson  like  Miss  Wilmot — and  taller 
tool"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Browne;  "I  wonder  what 


124  WHO    SHALL    BE    GllEATESI? 

we  shall  have  next !  Lucy  Gregson  is  a  raw 
girl,  without  any  style  at  all!  But  I  assure  you, 
Mrs.  Barwell  has  the  (.ddest  notions  and  tastes  I 
Now,  I'll  tell  you  what  she  herself  told  me  I" 
And  then  Mrs.  Browne  edified  the  two  ladies  Avith 
the  history  of  the  uncle  and  aunt  who  kept  the 
little  tea-shop,  and  also  of  the  early  acquaintance 
with  her  as  a  school-girl,  when  she  lived  with  her 
ancient  grandmother. 

"  I  do  not  wonder  at  her  low  tastes,  then,**  said 
Mrs.  Jennings. 

"  And  yet  she  is  a  perfect  gentlewoman,"  said 
Miss  Harriet ;  "  living  in  the  world,  you  know, 
has  made  her  that;  and,  for  my  part,  I  think  her 
manners  excellent." 

"  No  doubt  of  it,"  returned  Mrs.  Browne;  "she 
is,  as  you  say,  a  perfect  gentlewoman;  but  what  I 
tell  you  of  her  early  days,  and  her  peculiar  tastes 
and  predilections — for  every  word  of  what  I  have 
told  you  I  had  from  her  own  mouth — may  account 
for  the  strange  mixture  of  good  sense  and  ab- 
surdity there  is  in  her." 

Many  of  the  wise  people  of  Woodburn,  besides 
the  Jenningses,  thought  it  rather  a  strange  fancy 
of  Mrs.  Barwell,  to  be  so  very  intimate  with  the 
Gregsons,  and  to  have  almost,  as  it  seemed, 
adopted  Lucy.  True,  the  Gregsons  had  by  this 
time  left  their  house  in  Bridge-street,  and  had 
assumed  altogether  a  higher  style  of  living: 
still,  he  bought  cheese  as  formeily;  and  she,  with 
all  her  striving,  did  not  rise  above  the  wife  of  a 
rich  tradesman;  and  the  people  of  Woodburn, 
therefore,  wondered  on. 

How  often    had  Mrs.  Gregson   censured   her 


WHO    SHALL    BE    GREATEST?  125 

friend  IMrs.  Browne,  for  aping  the  style  and 
bearing  of  a  person  of  fashion  I  for  hungering  and 
thirsting,  as  it  were,  after  the  notice  and  intimacy 
of  the  county  families — the  Sykes  Willoughbys, 
and  the  rest  of  them!  But  in  censuring  iier,  she 
only  did  what  we  all,  more  or  less,  do  every  day — 
blamed  her  for  that,  from  the  temptation  to  which 
she  herself  was  exempt.  She  had  not,  however, 
been  settled  many  months  in  her  new  habitation, 
possessed  at  the  same  time  of  the  knowledge  that 
her  husband  was  undoubtedly  a  man  of  prosperity 
and  substance,  than  she  too  began  to  have  similar 
aspirings.  Another  sentiment  also  governed  her, 
no  less  strong  than  personal  ambition — the  desire 
not  only  to  rival,  but  to  outshine  Mrs.  Browne. 

Whilst  they  had  lived  among  the  cheese  ware- 
houses in  Bridge-street,  whatever  might  have  been 
the  amount  of  her  husband's  income,  or  however 
expensive  might  have  been  the  style  of  living  they 
had  chosen  to  adopt,  she  well  knew  that  they 
must  rank  many  degrees  below  the  wealthy  soli- 
citor wiio  inhabited  his  own  large  house  in 
Wilton-street;  but  things  had  now  taken  a  little 
turn;  their  present  residence  was  as  much  above 
the  Brownes',  in  Wilton-street,  as  their  former  one 
had  been  below  it.  They  seemed  to  have  de- 
cidedly turned  a  corner  in  the  great  pathway  of 
society;  they  had  left  their  old  acquaintance  be- 
hind them,  and  were  going  forward  through  new 
prospects,  and  Avith  new  people,  among  whom 
they  might  naturally  form  connexions.  Mrs. 
Gregson,  therefore,  dropped  all  intimacy  with 
her  less  dignified  acquaintance,  and  was  "  not  at 
home"  when  Mrs.  Mason,  the  draper's  wife,  who 


126  WHO    SHALL    BE    GREATEST? 

had  hired  a  fly  for  the  occasion,  drove  over  totlie 
Elms,  to  make  her  first  call ;  and,  in  order  to  cut 
the  intimacy  more  decidedly,  went  a  shopping  to 
the  county-town,  as  many  families — the  Sykes 
Willoughbys  and  the  rest  did — on  the  plea  that 
there  was  neither  style  nor  variety  in  Mason's 
fancy  goods.  The  countenance  of  Mrs.  Barwell, 
a  lady  whose  station  in  society  was  unquestionable, 
and  who  visited  everybody,  was  a  great  happiness 
to  her.  Little  did  Mrs.  Barwell  know  the  seeds 
of  ambition  which  Mere  springing  up  to  vigorous 
growth  in  her  friend's  heart.  True,  she  was  not  long 
in  making  the  discovery,  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Greg- 
son,  although  tradespeople,  were  not  characterised 
by  her  uncle  and  aunt's  single-mindedness  and 
simplicity,  yet  nobility  of  heart;  and  she  began  to 
fear  that  her  search  after  happiness,  like  that  of 
many  others,  would  end  in  disappointment:  yet, 
for  the  present  at  least,  she  persisted  in  hoping 
the  best.  Besides  this,  she  had  volunteered  pub- 
licly, as  it  were — publicly,  at  least,  as  it  had  be- 
come— her  friendship  to  Mrs.  Gregson,  to  whom 
she  knew  that  no  mortification  could  be  so  cruel 
as  the  withdrawing  of  it.  Mrs.  Barwell,  too,  had 
been  let  into  the  secrets  of  the  rival  houses;  she 
liked  the  Brownes  no  better  than  Mrs.  Gregson 
liked  them  herself,  and  she  would  not  willingly 
give  them  the  least  triumph  over  her.  Still,  she 
had  a  difficult  part  to  act.  Mrs.  Gregson  was 
not  satisfied  with  her  as  a  half  and  half  partisan; 
and  her  moderation  and  good  sense  view  of  things 
continually  threatened  disunion  between  them. 
Then  followed  the  long  lef-ters  of  deprecation ;  the 
bitter  self-condemnation;  the  visit  of  tears;  the 


WHO    SHALL    BE    GREATEST?  127 

humility;    and    the   gratitude — more   oppressive 
than  all. 

Spite,  however,  of  all  this  show  of  attachment, 
and  willingness  to  be  guided,  no  human  being  ever 
was  more  perversely  determined  to  take  her  own 
course  than  was  poor  Mrs.  Gregson.  Her  true 
mode  of  reasoning,  stripped  of  all  its  sentiment — 
for  at  this  time  siie  tried  to  impose  upon  herself 
a  belief  of  disinterested  attachment  to  her  new 
friend — was  something  like  this: — "Here  we  are 
now  at  the  Elms — a  dozen  steps  higher  in  society 
than  in  Bridge-street,  and  I  have  fairly  p«t  an 
end  now  to  all  Bridge-street  intimacies.  Gregson 
after  all,  it  seems,  is  very  ricli — rich  enough  to 
write  esquire  after  his  name.  Our  house  is  most 
handsomely  furnished;  we  have  a  gardener,  a 
groom,  and  women  servants — more  than  ever  I 
kept  in  my  life  bef(jre;  and,  before  long,  I'll  have 
a  servant  in  livery,  and  a  handsome  piiaeton  of 
my  own.  I  know  I  can  have  them;  for  I  have 
remarked  many  little  tendencies  to  show  and 
stylishness  in  Gregson,  of  late;  and,  why  should 
we  not  show  the  world  that  we  know  how  to 
make  use  of  good  fortune?  What  ivill  Mrs. 
Browne  say  to  '  the  Gregsons'  carriage  I — to  their 
gardener,  and  groom,  and  footman?'  Oh,  it's 
capital  I  Poor  Mrs.  Barwell,  after  all  her  riot 
about  those  old-fashioned  tradespeople,  will  soon 
find  in  England,  now-a-tlays,  that  those  manners 
are  gone  by:  people  have  not  now  the  same  miser- 
able notions  that  they  had  forty  years  ago;  besides, 
those  people  were  poor — so  diti'erent  to  us,  even 
if  that  way  of  life  would  satisfy  one.  Mrs.  Barwell 
is   a  very   good    sort  of  woman;    but  she  givea 


128  WHO    SIIA^LL    BE    GREATEST? 

advice  on  what  slie  knows  nothing  about.  She, 
were  she  in  our  case,  would  do  as  we  do — not  as 
she  advises.  She  is,  nevertheless,  an  excellent 
person,  and,  as  I  know  it  mortifies  the  Brownes 
that  we  should  be  so  intimate,  I  am  dtterniined| 
to  keep  up  the  Marnicst  iriendship  with  her;  and 
I  really  think  she  is  fond  of  Lucy,  and  Lucy  is 
much  improved  since  she  has  been  so  much  at 
Moreby  Lodge ;  for  there  is  a  something  about 
rich  people,  and  people  accustomed  to  society, 
that  one  cannot  acquire  after  one's  habits  are 
formed.  I  fear  I  never  shall  do  proper  justice  to 
our  fortune ;  but,  if  dressing  well  will  do,  I  will 
dress  well  I — and  I'll  go  into  good  society  too — 
nor  will  I  worry  about  the  saving  of  sixpence,  as 
I  have  done!  There's  one  tiling,  however,  that 
does  vex  me;  the  Barwells  never  ask  us  to  any  of 
their  large  parties.  She  pretends  not  to  like  Mrs. 
Browne,  and  yet,  the  Brownes  dined  there  only 
last  week;  and,  what  was  most  provoking  of  all, 
she  sent  Lucy  home  the  day  before,  although  I 
had  got  her  a  dress  on  purpose  I  I  declare,  if  I 
had  not  the  greatest  respect  for  her  in  the  world, 
I  could  have  quarrelled  with  her  about  it;  and, 
after  all,  much  as  I  like  her,  I  would  far  rather  be 
invited  to  their  great  parties,  and  be  thus  treated 
as  an  equal  in  society,  than  as  a  humble  friend, 
who,  like  a  governess  or  an  upper  servant,  is  to 
leave  the  room  the  moment  a  guest  enters.  How- 
ever, I  shall  make  no  quarrel  about  it.  I  shall 
choose  my  own  opportunities,  and  I'll  make 
them  all,  by  one  means  or  another,  the  steps  of 
the  ladder  by  which  I'll  climb  I" 

So  woi*ked,  day  after  day,  the  mind  of  poor 


WHO    SHALL    BE    GREATEST?  129 

Mrs.  Gregson;  and  many  of  the  schemes  she  had 
devised,  which,  a  few  months  before,  would  have 
seemed  like  wild  chimeras,  realized  themselves 
in  a  manner  which  surprised  even  her;  for 
instance,  that  of  having  a  carriage  which  should 
outvie  the  Brownes'.  But,  in  the  first  place,  a 
word  must  be  said  about  Mr.  Gregson.  He,  as 
our  readers  may  have  premised,  from  his  secret 
way  of  purchasing  the  Elms,  and  mispleading  his 
wife  with  regard -to  his  circumstances,  was  not  in 
the  habit  of  confiding  to  her  his  intentions.  He 
was  naturally  kind  and  indulgent ;  but  he  was 
close-tempered,  and  liked  to  do  everything  in  his 
own  way.  His  wife,  therefore,  was  not  aware 
that  a  process  similar  to  that  which  was  going  on 
in  her  mind,  was  operating  also  on  his,  and  that 
he  wa^  no  little  flattered  by  the  attentions  of 
Colonel  and  Mrs.  Barwell;  and  that  a  desire  to 
show  himself  to  the  world  as  a  wealthy  man,  was 
beginning  to  take  hold  of  him.  He  was  begin- 
ning to  covet  the  influence  w  hich  a  man  possesses 
from  being  known  to  the  rich — from  being  sur- 
rounded by  that  w^hich  money  can  alone  obtain. 
Had  his  wife  known  all  these  workings  of  his 
mind,  she  would  have  been  wonilerfully  delighted. 
However,  she  did  not;  and  therefore  a  second 
surprise  was  iu  store  for  her. 

When  Gre<zson  walked  in  the  garden  and  shrub- 
bery of  the  Elms,  in  the  early  spring-time,  as  we 
mentioned,  he  thought  how  the  boys  would  enjoy 
having  horses  to  ride  during  the  vacations.  He 
accordingly,  as  soon  as  he  came  to  reside  there, 
bought  a  couple  of  hackneys  for  their  use.  They 
had,  however,  now  left  school,  and  were  gone,  the 


130  WHO    SHALL    BE    GREATEST? 

one  to  pursue  his  Irgal,  and  tlie  otlier  his  clnrical 
studies;  for  Mr.  Gregson,  having  placed  the 
hereditary  business  in  the  liands  of  his  elder  sons, 
selected  the  bar  and  the  church  for  his  younger, 
more  especially  as  a  rich  living  was  in  the  gift  of 
Colonel  Barwell,  who,  he  hoped,  might  be  induced 
to  bestow  it  on  his  son — at  least,  tiiought  he,  if 
we  manage  our  cards  well!  In  the  absence  of 
these  youths,  therefore,  the  horses  were  noi 
needed,  and  to  the  fair  they  accordingly  were 
sent — Mr.  Gregson  himself  riding  over  to  see 
them  sold.  The  next  day  he  returned,  the  groom 
having  brought  home,  half  an  hour  before,  a  most 
valuable  horse,  which,  he  said,  his  master  intended 
to  drive  with  the  last  new  one. 

Gregson,  Mhen  he  returned,  told  his  wife  that 
he  had  been  a  great  fool,  for  that  he  had  bought 
a  horse  wiiich  had  cost  more  than  four  times  the 
price  of  the  two  hackneys;  and  that,  moreover,  as 
he  thought  it  would  be  a  sin  not  to  have  a  suit- 
able carriage,  he  had  also  ordered  a  new  britchka, 
like  Colonel  Barwell's — exactly  like  it,  colour 
and  all ! 

Mrs.  Gregson  was  overjoyed.  The  Brownes 
themselves  had  notliing  in  the  shape  of  a  carriage, 
to  compare  with  the  Barwells'  britchka.  She 
thanked  her  husband  joyfully,  and  then  began  to 
think  how  she  must  certainly  have  a  new  bonnet — 
nay,  a  complete  new  dress,  for  her  first  appear- 
ance in  the  carriage — so  should  Lucy;  and  now 
they  should,  indeed,  dazzle  the  eyes  of  all  Wood- 
burn  I  She  held  a  council  with  herself,  whether 
she  should  tell  Mrs.  Barwell.  How  would  Mrs. 
Barwell  take  it?  for, .she  fancied  her  friend  had 


WHa    SHALL    BE    «UEATEST?  131 

often  looked  cool,  whenever  she  made  an  effort  to 
be  like  her  richer  neighbours.  "  She  wants  us," 
reasoned  Mrs.  Gregson,  "to  be  like  those  horrid 
tea-people!  I  know  it  so  well;  and  how  absurd 
it  is  of  her!  I  should  not  wonder  if  we  are  nearly 
as  rich  as  Colonel  Barwell  himself!  I  don't  think 
I  will  tell  her!  I  must  have  Lucy  at  home,  how- 
ever, to  go  with  me  to ,  that  we  may  get  our 

dresses  home  against  Sunday ;"  it  being  Mr. 
Gregson's  intention,  as  he  had  said,  to  drive  to 
church  in  the  new  britchkm 

To  Moreby  Lodge,  therefore,  Mrs.  Gregson 
drove  in  her  very  best  apparel,  although  in  the 
old  gig,  to  fetch  home  Lucy.  Mrs.  Barwell  was 
looking  extremely  happy  as  she  entered,  and  had 
an  open  letter  in  her  hand. 

"  Sit  down,  my  dear  friend,"  said  she;  "  I  want 
you  to  congratulate  me! — I  am  going  to  have  a 
daughter  of  my  own — a  full-grown  daughter — 
older  even  than  Lucy — to  live  with  me  altogether, 
for  me  to  love,  and  to  educate  just  in  my  own  man- 
ner! Now  congratulate  me!"  said  she,  as  Mrs.  Greg- 
son, who  was  not  at  all  pleased  at  what  she  heard, 
fearing  that  Lucy  would  thus  lose  the  regards  of 
the  lady  of  Moreby  Lodge,  still  remained  silent. 

"  I  do  congratulate  you,"  said  iVIrs.  Gregson, 
but  in  a  voice  which  was  anything  but  congratu- 
latory; "  I'm  sure  I  do;  but  who  do  you  mean?" 

"  I  told  you,"  said  INIrs.  Barwell,  "  of  the  death 
of  my  husband's  brother — he  who  left  the  money 
to  purchase  the  estate  for  his  daughter — it  is  she. 
She  is  a  beautiful  girl,  I  am  told.  1  have  not 
seen  her,  however,  for  seven  years — not  since  we 
parted  with  her  at  Madras,  when  she  came  to 
12 


132  WHO    SHALL    BE    GREATEST? 

England  for  her  education.  She  was  then  eleveuj 
she  is  now,  consequently,  eighteen." 

"  But,"  asked  Mrs.  Gregson,  by  no  means 
pleasantly  interested  for  this  young  lady,  "  how  i« 
it  that  she  has  been  in  England  all  these  years, 
yet  you  have  not  seen  her?" 

"  When  she  came  to  England,  seven  years  ago,** 
said  >Irs.  Harwell,  "she  was  intrusted  to  the  care 
of  her  mother's  sister,  in  London,  who  was  a  lady 
of  a  large  independent  fortune.  After  Mary 
Anne  had  been  three  years  at  school,  her  aunt 
took  her  into  France,  and  thence  into  Italy.  At 
Florence  her  aunt  became  acquainted  with  a  cele- 
brated Marquis,  whom  she  married.  He  had 
been  concerned  deeply,  it  seems,  in  some  rebellion 
against  the  Austrian  government — has  been  im- 
prisoned, and  has  suffered  dreadfully,  I  believe. 
He  has  been  now  restored  to  liberty,  but  on  the 
sole  condition  of  perpetual  banishment;  they  are 
going  to  South  America,  and  Mary  Anne  is  to 
be  restored  to  us.  It  is,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned, 
a  most  happy  circumstance;  and  I  doubt  not  of 
its  being  a  fortunate  one  for  her.  Colonel  Bar- 
well  and  myself  set  off  to-morrow  for  Dover — we 
are  going  into  Italy  to  fetch  her.  I  was  going  to 
send  Lucy  home  this  afternoon,  for  it  has  taken 
us  quite  by  surprise.  Lucv  is  now  with  the 
gardener  in  the  hot-house,  selecting  some  plants 
for  herself.  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  walk  to 
her,"  said  Mrs.  Barwell,  seeing  that  Mrs.  Greg- 
son  a))peared  unaccountably  silent. 

"  Oh,  no,  no! — that  is,  not  unless  you  want  to 
get  rid  of  me!"  said  she. 

»•  No,  indeed,  I  am  most  happy  to  see  you,"^ 


WHO    SHALL    BE    GREATEST?  133 

said  Mrs.  Barwell,  smiling.  "  You  will,  perhaps, 
stay  the  day  with  me,  for  it  will  be  three  months 
before  we  return:  we  intend  going  on  to  Home." 

"  When  do  you  go? — to-morrow,  did  you  say?" 
asked  Mrs.  Gregson,  thinking  directly,  that  they 
would  not  then  see  the  new  britclika  at  church. 

''  Yes,  to-morrow,"  said  Mrs.  Barwell;  "  we 
are  quite  impatient  to  set  off:  ^Morgan  has  been 
packing  since  six  o'clock  this  morning.  Mary  Anne 
was  extreniely  fond  of  us  in  India;  she  is  a  sweet 
girl,  and  her  letter  is  quite  affecting;  you  must 
read  it:  it  shows  a  very  good  heart;  and  I  love  her 
for  her  devotion  to  her  aunt.  They  have  been  in 
prison,  you  see — both  of  them,"  said  she,  the 
toars  starting  to  her  eyes,  as  she  followed  Mrs. 
Gregson's  progress  through  the  letter.  "  Poor 
thing  I — and  so  young  too — she  must  have  suffered 
a  great  deal !  " 

"  Yes,  certainly!"  said  Mrs.  Gregsop,  returning 

the  letter.     "  But  I  have  to  drive  to ;  I  want 

to  go  a  shopping,  and  came  for  Lucy  to  go  with 
me;  I  am  sorry,  therefore,  that  I  cannot  stop  the 
day  with  you.  But  I  hope  now  that  you  will 
commission  me  with  anything,  in  your  absence; 
and  Gregson,  I  am  sure,  will  be  most  happy  to 
be  the  Colonel's  steward,  or  bailiff,  or  anything, 
while  he  is  away.     What  can  we  do  for  you?" 

*'  Thank  you,"  returned  Mrs.  Barwell;  "  the 
Colonel  is  now  gone  down  to  Woodburn,  to  talk 
to  your  husband.  He  wants  him  to  sell  the 
carriage-horses — they  do  not  exactly  suit  us — and 
the  britchka  too." 

*•  Indeed!"  said  Mrs.  Gregson,  who  determined 
to  take  this  opportunity  of  telling  her  friend  of 


134  WHO    SHALL    BE    GREATEST? 

the  new  acquisition ;  "  and  do  you  really  mean  to 
sell  the  britchkaS  Do  you  know,  Gregson  ad- 
mired it  so  much,  that  he  has  ordered  one  just 
like  it  for  ourselves." 

Mrs.  Barwell's  countenance  wore  an  Instan- 
taneous expression  very  like  disgust. 

"  Well,  only  see  now!"  thought  Mrs.  Gregson; 
"  I  do  believe  she  is  vexed  that  we  should  drive 
a  britchka  liketliem!"  but  sne  still  continued  the 
topic  on  which  she  was  speaking.  "  It  is  to  come 
home  on  Saturday,"  she  said;  "  and  I  want  Lucy 
to  go  with  me  to  buy  new  dresses;  for  you  know 
we  must  be  all  of  a  piece!" 

The  necessity  for  Mrs.  Barwell  to  make  any- 
observation,  was  prevented  by  Lucy  coming  in  at 
that  moment.  "  Oh,  mamma,  are  you  here?" 
she  exclaimed;  "  and  has  Mrs.  Barwell  told  you?" 
she  asked,  eagerly. 

"  About  the  young  lady  coming?"  inquired  her 
mother. 

"  No,  no,  not  that!  May  I  tell  her,  dear  Mrs. 
Barwell?"  asked  Lucy  of  that  lady. 

"  You  may,"  said  Mrs.  Barwell,  but  in  a  voice 
much  colder  than  ordinary. 

"  Then,  manniia,"  said  Lucy,  "  you  must  know 
that  I  was  coming  home  this  afternoon  in  the 
most  beautiful  little  carriage! — so  low  and  easy, 
and  so  well-built! — with  the  loveliest  pair  of 
ponies  that  ever  you  saw  in  your  life;  and  it's  a 
present  to  you  from — whom  do  you  think? — from 
Colonel  Barwell!" 

Mrs.  (jregson  wished  she  had  said  nothing 
about  the  britchka;  she  made  a  hundred  protesta- 
tions of  gratitude  and  delight — said  that  she  always 


WHO    SHALL    BE     GREATEST?  135 

preferred  a  low  carriage  to  a  liicli  one — that  she 
was  not  particularly  fond  of  britchkas — that  it 
was  all  her  husband's  doing — that  she  mu^^t  thank 
the  dear  Colonel  herself — she  must  go  that  very 
instant — she  would  drive  to  Woodburn,  and  find 
him  at  the  warehouse,  with  her  husband." 

-'  Do  no  such  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Barwell,  very 
decidedly ;  "  Lucy  has  thanked  him :  he  hates 
gratitude — at  least,  he  hates  many  thanks.  But 
the  best  of  the  ponies  is,  that  they  are  perfectly 
safe;  you  or  Lucy  may  drive  them;  Lucy  drove 
them  fourteen  miles  yesterday;  and,  as  you  have 

to   go   to ,   you   had  better  drive   there   at 

once — you  are  here  so  far  on  your  way." 

"Do  mammal"  exclaimed  Lucy — all  anima- 
tion— "  I  will  drive  you !  " 

"  But  shall  we  not  need  a  servant  with  us?" 
asked  Mrs.  Gregson;  "  Joseph  drove  me  here; 
he  has  his  best  clothes  on,  and  he  looks  respect- 
able." 

"  There's  no  room  for  Joseph,"  said  Lucy; 
"  and,  besides,  as  he  is  here  with  the  gig,  he  shall 
take  home  my  plants.  I  will  go  and  order  them 
to  be  packed;"  and  away  she  went. 

Mrs.  Gregson,  although  she  again  spoke  her 
thanks,  could  not  help  feeling  a  little  mortified 
that  no  seat  had  been  provided  for  a  servant. 
*'  Mrs.  Barwell,"  thought  she,  "  never  goes  out 
attended  by  less  than  two  servants;  but  I  suppose 
they  think  we  have  no  business  with  one  at  all: 
the  very  ponies,  I  am  •  told,  are  so  quiet  that 
Lucy  can  drive  them:  and  thus  the  present  was 
not  without  its  mortifying  drawback. 


136 
CHAPTER   XII. 

GROWING    GREAT. 

"I  AM  glad  we  are  going  to  Italy  for  three  months," 
thought  Mrs.  Barwell  to  herself,  as  Lucy  and  her 
niotlier  drove  away  in  the  little  pony  phaeton — 
"  and  tliat  the  britchka  is  going  to  be  sold  too !  How 
it  would  have  vexed  the  Colonel  to  see  the  Greg- 
sons  driving  in  such  a  one!  What  a  want  of  good 
common  sense  there  is  in  those  people,  after  all  I 
and,  I  begin  to  be  very  much  afraid  that  my 
feelings  towards  her  have  been  excited  rather  by 
enthusiasm  than  judgment!" 

Contrary  to  Mrs.  Harwell's  advice,  Mrs.  Greg- 
son,  who  was  delijihted  by  the  elegance  of  the 
little  town-builtcarriage,and  the  perfectly-matched 
and  faultless  ponies,  and  the  harness — the  like  of 
which  had  never  been  seen  in  Woodburn — forgot 
at  once  the  want  of  an  attendant  groom,  and 
ordered  Lucy  to  drive  into  Woodburn,  up  Wilton- 
street,  that  Mrs.  Browne  might  have  a  chance  ot 
seeing  them;  and  so  to  Bridge-street,  where  she 
might  catch  the  Colonel  before  he  had  finished 
his  business  with  her  husband. 

Mrs.  Browne,  it  happened,  had  just  been  calling 
on  the  Jenningses,  and  was  walking  up  the  street 
as  Mrs.  Gregson  and  her  daughter  drove  into  it. 
The  ladies  had  ceased  all  familiar  greetings  since 
the  day  on  which  they  dined  together  at  the 
Barwells' ;  on  this  particular  occasion,  however, 
Mrs.  Gregson  said  to  her  daughter,  "  Let  us  stop 


GBOWING    GREAT,  137 

and  speak  to  lier,  for  I  know  it  uill  half  kill  her 
to  see  us  with  this  sweet  equipage  I" 

Lucv  accordingly  checked  the  speed  of  the 
ponies,  as  Mrs.  Browne  approached.  Mrs. 
Brownt,  in  the  meantime,  had  been  speculating 
with  herself  who,  in  the  world,  the  ladies  could 
be:  before  Lucy,  however,  began  to  prepare  for 
a  halt,  she  had  recognized  them;  and  that,  too, 
with  a  sentiment  of  envy  and  aversion.  She  very 
well  divined  why,  on  this  particular  occasion,  the 
ceremony  of  recognition  was  to  take  place,  and 
she  determined  to  mortify  their  vanity.  Assuming, 
therefore,  a  look  of  indifference,  she  passed  the 
already  pausing  carriage  with  the  coldest  recog- 
nition, leaving  them,  as  she  hoped,  to  feel  very 
foolish,  especially  as  many  people  were  in  the 
street,  all  of  whom,  attracted  by  Mrs.  Gregson  in 
her  new  carriage,  were  looking  on. 

"  Was  there  ever  in  this  world  such  a  malicious 
woman?"  exclaimed  Mrs. Gregson  to  her  daughter, 
feeling  mortified,  and,  spite  of  the  new  carriage,  a 
little  foolish  also,  at  the  bootless  halt  which  they 
had  made.  Fortune,  however,  had  not  deserted 
her.  It  happened  that  they  had  stopped  before 
the  only  shop  in  Wilton-street;  and,  although  she 
had  never  dealt  there  in  her  life,  no  sooner  did 
the  ponies  draw  up  to  the  pavement,  than  the 
shopman,  who  was  standing  at  his  door,  rushed 
forth,  filled  with  the  hope  of  a  new  customer; 
and,  with  ready  wit,  she  resolved  to  avail  herself 
of  this  mistake,  to  cover  her  disgrace,  and  alighted, 
following  him  into  the  shop,  though  she  knew  not 
what  to  purchase.  Mrs.  Browne,  whose  senses,  in 
the  meantime,  were  all  alive,  listened  for  the  sound 


138  GROWING    GREAT. 

of  the  advancing  wheels,  which,  not  «'.oniing  to 
her  ears,  hurried  her  to  her  own  door-steps,  that 
she  might  thus  have  an  opportunity  of  looking  up 
the  street  in  a  perfectly  natural  manner.  Their 
house  was  not  above  twenty  yards  distant;  and 
she  had  the  vexation  of  seeing  the  ^shopman 
bowing  Mrs.  Gregson  across  the  pavement;  so 
that  she  entered  her  own  door,  quite  undecided 
in  her  mind  whether,  after  all,  they  had  not  been 
only  stopping  at  the  shop — which  was  a  very 
vexatious  thing! 

When  Mrs.  Gregson  reached  the  warehouses  in 
Bridge-street,  she  found  that  Colonel  Barvvell  was 
just  gone.  Her  husband  was  looking  vexed,  and 
a  new  britchka  was  standing  in  the  yard. 

*'  Is  that  our  new  carriage?"  said  she:  "well, 
it  is  handsome — and  how  like  the  Barwelis' !  But 
I'm  in  luck's  way:  I  want  you  to  see  the  present 
I  have  had  made  to  me !"  and  she  drew  him  from 
his  desk  to  the  counting-house  window,  to  see  the 
pony  phaeton,  in  which  Lucy  was  sitting,  while 
one  of  the  warehousemen  and  her  two  brothers 
were  rapturously  admiring  the  whole  faultless 
equipage. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  that?"  exclaimed  she. 
"  A  present  to  me  from  Colonel  Barwell!" 

"  I  hate  those  low  carriages — drawn  by  a 
couple  of  rats!"  said  Gregson. 

"  Now,  really ! "  said  his  wife. 

"  And  for  what  must  he  give  you  a  carriage?" 
continued  he. 

•'  Out  of  kindness,  to  be  sure,"  said  she:  "  I 
always  knew  that  the  Barwelis  liked  us." 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Rebecca,"   said  he — "  those 


GROWING    GREAT,  139 

Ban^-ells  are  as  proud  as  Lucifer !  Do  you  know, 
the  old  Colonel  looked  as  angry  as  anything  when 
I  showed  him  fhe  new  britchka." 

"  I  thought  it  Mas  not  to  come  till  Saturday," 
said  she. 

"  It  came  home  last  night,"  returned  her  hus- 
band; "  and  he  would  hardly  look  at  it,  but  said 
directly,  that  he  would  sell  his  own  britchka:  now, 
that's  what  I  call  rank  pride!  He  was  offended 
that  we  should  have  a  britchka  as  well  as  he." 

**  Nothing  of  the  kind!"  said  Mrs.  Gregson; 
*'  I  can  set  you  right  on  that  score.  Mrs.  Barwell 
told  me  that  the  Colonel  was  come  down  here  on 
purpose  to  ask  you  to  sell  the  carriage-horses  and 
the  britchka;  and  she  knew  nothing  of  our  having 
ine." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  he,  doubtfully;  "  but  not 
one  word  did  he  say  about  mij  selling  anything 
for  him — only,  point  blank,  as  rude  as  could  be, 
*  I  shall  sell  mi/  britchka' — the  first  moment  I 
Bpoke  about  mine." 

"  1  don't  think  he  meant  to  be  rude — I'm  sure 
I  don't,"  replied  Mrs.  Gregson,  rather  perplexed 
in  her  own  mind,  notwithstanding;  "  but  perhaps 
I  mistook  Mrs.  Barwell's  meaning,"  said  she, 
determined  to  preserve  peace  between  the  two 
houses,  at  all  events;  "  I  dare  say  I  did:  but  of 
this  I  am  sure,  that  she  told  me  distinctly,  that 
they  were  going  to  sell  the  carriage-horses  and 
the  britchka:  she  said  the  Colonel  was  come  to 
Woodburn  about  it,  and  Wcis  going  to  call  on  you, 
I  thought  she  said,  to  ask  you  to  sell  them.  But 
I  dare  say  it  was  only  to  bid  you  good-bye,  or  to 
tell  you  of  the  present  he  had  made  me;  and  that 


140  GROWING    GREAT. 

woulii  account  for  his  looking  vexed  when  you 
showed  him  that  you  had  got  a  carriage.  I  can't 
help  wishing  that  it  had  not  come  home  till 
Saturday,  and  tlien  they  would  have  been  gone." 

At  that  moment  Lucy  and  her  two  brothers 
came  in,  full  of  enthusiasm  about  the  ponies,  and 
impatient  tliat  tiieir  fatiier  should  go  out  to  see 
them. 

Mr.  Gregson  reckoned  himself  a  judge  of  horses, 
and  of  all  that  belonged  to  them;  and  he  could 
not  but  confess,  "  that  for  ponies  they  were  very 
fair;  that  the  harness  M'as  of  a  good  make;  and 
that  the  phaeton  was  well  built.  But,  ever  since 
he  was  a  boy,"  he  said,  "  he  had  had  a  contempt 
for  ponies  and  low  carrikges — they  were  only  iit 
for  old  M'omen !" 

"  Get  along  with  you!"  said  Mrs.  Gregson, 
pushing  him  from  her  and  laughing.  "  And  now 
Lucy,"  said  she,  "  we  will  just  drive  to  the 
pastry-cook's  and  get  a  mouthful  of  something, 
and  then  drive  to ." 

Before  the  next  Sunday,  all  the  world  knew  that 
the  Barwells  were  gone  abroad,  and  that  the  Colo- 
nel had  made  Mrs.  Gregson  a  present  of  that  beau- 
tiful phaeton  and  pair  of  ponies,  in  which  she  had 
been  driving  about  all  the  week;  and,  as  they 
made  their  appearance  at  church  in  the  new 
britehka,  Avhich  resembled  the  Barwells'  as  nearly 
as  one  carriage  could  resemble  another,  no  doubt 
was  entertained  but  that  the  Colonel  had  either 
given  his  to  Mrs*  Gregson,  or  that  Mr.  Gregson 
had  bought  it. 

Very  niortifying  indeed  was  it  to  Mr.  Gregson 
tlierefore,  on  the  Monday  morning,  when    Mr 


©ROWING    GREAT.  141 

Mason,  the  linen-draper,  wiio  had  stopped  him 
in  the  market-place,  observed,  "  So,  you've  got 
the  Colonel's  old  carriage,  I  hear — may  I  ask 
what  you  gave  him  for  it?  I  think  of  buying  a 
second-hand  one  myself:  only  a  second-iiand 
price,  I  suppose;  and,  between  friends,  got  it  for 
an  old  song,  1  dare  say!" 

"  My  good  fellow,"  said  Mr.  Gregson,  very 
mucii  piqued,  "  you  don't  know  muv:;h  about 
carriages!  ^Vhy,  man,  mine's  spic  and  span 
new ! — ot Jy  came  from  the  maker's  la>t  week 
You're  thinking  of  my  wife's  pony-phaeton — 
that  was  a  present  to  her  from  Colonel  Barwell!" 

"  It's  a  lui;ky  thing  to  be  your  wife !"  exclaimed 
Mr.  Mason;  but,  being  determined  to  say  some- 
thing disagreeable,  because  Mrs.  Gregson  had 
cut  his  wife's  acquaintance,  as  well  as  left  his 
shop,  he  added,  "  But  Gregson,  everybody  says 
you  have  got  the  Colonel's  old  carriage,  for  they 
are  as  like  as  pea  to  pea ! " 

"  What  an  envious  old  scamp  it  is ! "  muttered 
Mr.  Gregson  to  himself,  as  he  walked  onward  to 
his  warehouse.  And  the  idea  that  everybody 
thought  he  had  got  the  Colonel's  old  carriage, 
haunted  him  all  day. 

"  Where  did  the  Colonel  sell  the  britchka  and 
the  horses?"  asked  Mrs.  Gregson,  fiom  one  of  the 
Moreby  Lodge  grooms,  whom  she  met  one  day 
near  the  Elms;  for  an  unpleasant  suspicion  lurked 
in  her  mind,  that  they  had  given  serious  offence 
by  having  ordered  this  britchka  of  their  own;  in 
consequence  of  which,  her  husband  had  not  b^sn 
favoured  with  the  commission. 


142  GROWING    GREAT. 

*<  Master  sent  'em  to  Tattersal's,  said  the  man; 
"  and  the  britchka  Meiit  to  London  too." 

"  He  talked  of  scUinjj  them  in  this  neighbour- 
hood," remarked  Mrs.  Gregson. 

"  He  altered  his  mind  the  night  afore  he  set 
off","  replied  the  groom,  "  else  we'd  orders  to  take 
'em  to  Mr.  Gregson's,"  said  he,  touching  his  hat, 

Mrs.  Gregson  gave  the  man  halt-a-crown, 
although  the  information  was  gall  and  wormwood 
to  her;  and  he  went  off  laughing  to  himself,  for 
he  knew  the  rumour  in  Woodburn  of  Mr.  Greg- 
son having  the  old  carriage;  and  he  supposed  the 
lady's  questions  had  reference  to  this  subject. 

It  is  not  at  all  an  extraordinary  case,  that  Mhen 
people  rise  ever  so  little  in  the  world,  their 
acquaintance  are  filled  with  envy  and  all  unchari- 
tableness.  It  seemed  to  the  Gregsons  to  be 
especially  so  in  their  case;  for  all  Woodburn 
appeared  to  be  at  feud  with  them  since  they  had 
been  noticed  by  the  Barwells,  and  had  removed 
to  the  Elms;  but  more  particularly  so,  since  they 
drove  to  church  in  a  handsome  carriage. 

*'  Hang  the  britchka!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Gregson 
to  his  M'ife,  several  weeks  afterwards;  "  I  wish  I 
had  never  had  it!  I  can  go  nowhere  in  Wood- 
burn,  but  people,  out  of  sheer  malice  I  am  sure, 
are  saying  something  to  me  about  its  being  a 
second-hand  affair; — as  if  I  were  in  the  habit  of 
buying  second-hand  things! — as  well  ask  if  my 
coat  is  second-hand!" 

"  They  know  well  enough,"  said  Mrs.  Gregson, 
**  that  it  is  not  second-hand;  but  it  is  all  their 
envy]    I  told  you  I  met  that  Mrs.  Browne,  when 


GROWIWlr     GREAT.  148 

Lucy  and  I  first  dpove  into  the  town  in  the  pony- 
phaeton  ;  and  she  looked  ready  to  cat  us  I  Besides, 
how  can  they  take  the  britchka  for  the  Barwells'? 
— they  might  see  that  Che  Colonel's  crest  is  not 
on  it,  nor  ever  was." 

.  "  The  mischief  is,"  said  Mr.  Gregson,  "  that 
the  Barwells  went  away  just  when  they  did.  If 
they  had  only  staid  one  Sunday  longer,  all  would 
have  been  right." 

"  If  they  had  staid  one  Sunday  longer,  all 
would  have  been  wrong — worse  than  it  is," 
thought  his  wife :  "  they  then  never  would  have 
forgiven  us;  and  even  now  I  am  frightened  at  the 
thoughts  of  their  coming  back  again  I " 

The  Barwells,  however,  did  not  come  back 
again  so  soon  as  was  expected.  Mrs.  Gregson 
hoped  that  she  might  have  a  letter,  but  none 
came;  and,  at  the  end  of  three  months,  she  and 
Lucy  drove  to  Moreby  Lodge,  to  inquire  from 
the  housekeeper  when  the  family  might  be  ex- 
pected. "  Not  at  present,"  was  the  answer: 
"  Mrs.  Barwell  liked  the  continent  so  much,  that 
they  were  going  a  tour  into  Switzerland,  and  into 
Vienna,  she  believed;  and  it  would  certainly  not 
be  before  the  end  of  autumn  that  they  would 
return;  which  would  make  it  upwards  of  twelve 
instead  of  three  months." 

This  mformation  was  quite  a  relief.  "  Perhaps/* 
thought  she,  "  they  never  will  return !"  It  almost 
seemed  to  her  more  desirable  they  should  not; 
for  she  could  not  help  fearing  that  the  same 
measure  of  favour  would  not  be  dealt  to  them  as 
formerly.         ^r, 


144 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


A    HELP    TO    GREATNESS. 


Though  the  Banvells  were  out  of  England,  and 
Mrs.  Gregson  had  cut  all  her  former  Woodburn 
acquaintance,  and  although  no  new  ones  had 
been  formed  with  any  of  the  higher  families,  either 
of  the  town  or  its  neighbourhood,  since  they  re- 
moved to  their  new  house,  yet  Mr.  Gregson, 
who  loved  to  sit  down  to  a  table  surrounded  by 
guests,  contrived  that  there  should  be  no  lack  of 
visitors  at  the  Elms.  Many  a  rich  farmer  and 
his  family,  the  purchase  of  whose  dairies  was  an 
hereditary  thing  to  Gregson,  came  to  dine  and 
stop  all  night.  The  young  Gregsons  also  had  their 
acquaintances,  who  came  of  an  evening,  and 
smoked  cigars  in  the  shrubberies,  or  played  at 
bowls;  whilst  the  clergyman  of  Woodburn,  a  Mr. 
Vincent,  a  quiet  old  bachelor,  and  the  apothecary 
and  his  wife,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dawes — the  three 
standing  dishes  of  every  table,  as  Mr.  Gregson 
called  them — were  always  ready  and  willing  to  be 
entertained. 

Mr»  Gregson,  spite  of  his  aspirings  after  gen- 
tility, which  it  had  given  his  wife  such  satisfaction 
to  discover,  "  was  not,"  as  he  said,  "  one  to  reject 
a  good  thing,  because  it  was  no  better."  If  he 
could  not  visit  with  the  J'^nningses,  and  the  Sykes 
Willoughbys,  and  all  thai  set,  there  was  no  reason 
why  he  should  turn  hermit.    He  would  have  such 


A    HELP    TO    GREATNESS.  145 

as  "he  could  get;  and,  if  they  were  not  so  grand, 
why,  they  were  all  the  merrier — that  was  the  only 
dift'erence.  And,  as  for  a  dance,  they  could  have 
one  any  time — for  he  liked  young  fellows  that 
could  dance  in  their  boots,  and  girls  that  would 
not  turn  up  their  noses  at  a  partner,  because  he 
had  not  new  white  kid  gloves!" 

Thus  easily  satisfied,  Mr.  Gregsoc  kept  the 
Elms  all  alive ;  and  every  Sunday,  and  not  unfre- 
quently  once  or  twice  in  the  course  of  the  week 
besides,  gave  a  dinner,  and  dined  out  likewise ;  driv- 
ing his  wife  and  daughter  to  substantial  granges, 
and  farm-houses,  and  old  manor-houses,  that  had 
come  a  little  down  in  the  world,  across  the  country, 
through  roads  intended  for  taxed  carts,  or  those 
with  no  springs  at  all,  in  his  handsome  britchka, 
very  little,  of  course,  to  its  improvement. 

Now,  let  it  not  be  supposed  that  tiiere  was  any 
philosophy  in  Mr.  Gregson's  thus  being  satisfied 
with  society  merely  of  his  own  class.  In  the  secret 
of  his  heart  he  wished  to  take  a  stand  among  the 
country  gentry — to  visit  wherever  the  Brownes 
did;  but,  though  he  was  striving  after  it  by  all 
means  in  his  power,  he  never  confessed  as  much 
to  his  wife. 

She,  on  the  contrary,  was  always  railing  against 
farmers  and  farmers'  wives,  and  was  thinking, 
with  herself,  that  she  would  give  anything  to 
know  the  secret  by  which  the  i3rownes  managed 
to  get  the  footing  in  society  they  did.  At  length 
she  came  to  the  decision,  that  the  cause  of  this 
difference  must  be  in  the  husbands.  Browne 
never  would  do  as  her  husband  did;  he  never 
would  make  hiin3elf  part  and  parcel  with  farmers. 


\i6  A    HELP    TO    GREATNESS. 

and  such  like;  he  never  would  be  content  with 
tenants,  while  landlords  were  to  be  had. 

Partly  on  the  plea,  therefore,  of  being  out  of 
health,  and  partly  on  that  of  the  state  of  the 
roads,  which  tried  and  injured  the  carriage-springs 
so  much,  she  began  to  decline  invitations,  making 
up  her  mind  not  to  compromise  her  claim  to  a 
higher  class  of  society,  by  connecting  herself 
entirely  with  this;  but  to  wait  for  Mrs.  Barwell's 
return,  and  trust  to  fortunate  circumstances  open- 
ing the  way  to  visiting  among  Mrs.  Barwell's 
friends;  especially  as  Lucy  was  now  growing  so 
womanly,  and  so  handsome. 

We  have  said  before,  that  Mrs.  Gregson  seemed 
to  be  a  favourite  of  fortune;  for  she  seldom 
earnestly  desired  anything,  which,  by  one  means 
or  other,  was  not  brought  about.  Accordingly, 
the  very  next  autumn. — about  the  time  when  the 
Barwells  were  expected  to  return — an  accident 
happened,  which  occasioned  the  family  to  become 
acquainted  with  the  Sykes  Willoughbys.  It 
occurred  thus: — 

One  fine  breezy  autumn  afternoon,  Mr.  Greg- 
son  and  his  eldest  son  were  out  with  their  dogs 
— for  they  had  become  great  sportsmen  since 
they  lived  at  the  Elms — and  were  looking  out  for 
a  covey  of  partridges,  which  lay  in  a  large  plant- 
ation bordering  a  small  lake  which  formed  the 
extreme  bound  of  the  Willoughby  estate  in  this 
direction,  and  which,  at  this  point,  joined  Mr. 
Gregson's  land.  Young  Sykes  Willoughby  and 
his  sister,  and  that  very  Miss  Wilmott  for  whom 
Lucy  had  been  mistaken,  were  rowing  about  the 
lake;  while  a  fine  Newfoundland  dog  was  in  the 


A    HELP    TO    GREATNESS.  147 

water,  with  which  all  the  party  were  amusing 
themselves.  For  frolic,  or  from  want  of  thought, 
the  young  man  called  the  dog  to  enter  the  boat — 
the  young  ladies,  l?jghing  and  screaming,  and 
protesting  he  should  not;  and,  as  he  still  swam 
nearer,  and  still  was  urged  by  his  master  to  do  so, 
one,  or  both  of  them,  started  up,  and  upset  the 
boat.  It  was  the  act  of  an  instant;  and,  in  the 
same  instant,  ]Mr.  Gregson,  who  was  a  strong 
man,  and  a  good  swimmer,  threw  off  his  coat,  and 
sprang  into  the  water  to  their  rescue,  not,  how- 
ever, before  he  had  ordered  his  son  to  run  home 
instantly  for  the  britchka.  The  sagacious  creature 
which  had  been  the  innocent  means  of  the  acci- 
dent, caught  hold  of  Miss  Wilmott's  dress,  and 
drew  her  to  land;  whilst  ^Ir.  Gregson  bore  Miss 
Willoughby  out  of  the  water,  and  then  returned 
to  her  brother,  who,  being  but  an  indifferent 
swimmer,  yet  sustained  himself  from  sinking,  by 
having  caught  hold  of  the  boat  as  it  resettled 
itself  in  the  water.  Their  peril  was  imminent; 
and  nothing  but  Mr.  Gregson's  presence,  and 
presence  of  mind,  could  have  saved  them  all. 

They  had  not  to  wait  long  for  the  carriage, 
into  which  Mrs.  Gregson  had  most  thoughtfully 
put  a  quantity  of  cloaks  and  blankets — pleased 
beyond  measure  to  have  thus  an  opportunity  of 
rendering  service  so  essential  to  the  Sykes  \Vil- 
loughbys.  The  two  young  ladies,  dripping  wet, 
and  frightened  half  out  of  their  senses,  were 
wrapped  in  blankets,  and  put  into  the  carriage, 
together  with  their  brother,  who  all  the  while 
made  light  of  the  affair;  it  was  then  closed,  and 
youDg    Gregson    mounted   the    box    beside    liia 


148  A    HELP    TO    GREATNESS. 

father,  who,  although  he  was  wet  to  the  skin» 
merely  wrapped  a  couple  of  great  coats  about 
him,  and  drove  home  with  the  utmost  expedition. 
They  found  the  gates  set  open  to  receive  thera, 
and  Mrs.  Gregson  herself  at  the  hall  door,  with 
servants,  who  insisted  upon  carrying  the  young 
ladies  up  stairs  to  bed.  It  was  in  vain  they  pro- 
tested that  they  were  only  wet,  and  that  there 
was  no  danger;  and  that,  if  dry  clothes  might  but 
be  sent  for,  they  were  able  to  go  home.  Mrs. 
Gregson  would  hear  of  nothing  but  their  going  to 
bed.  A  fire  was  burning  in  the  chamber,  and  in 
the  dressing-room  likewise,  where  they  found 
warm  night-clothes  and  flannel  gowns,  and  Lucy, 
full  of  tender  anxiety  and  willing  kindness.  At 
length,  all  sorts  of  warm  cordials  had  been  pre- 
sented, and  everything  had  been  done  that  could 
be  devised,  and  the*  two  were  left  in  bed  in  the 
very  best  chamber;  whilst  young  Willoughby,  to 
whom  far  more  attention  had  been  offered  than 
he  was  willing  to  accept,  was  left  in  bed  also,  in 
the  second-best  room,  in  which,  likewise,  a  good 
fife  was  burning.  By  the  time  all  this  was  done, 
and  the  running  about  of  servants  had  pretty 
nearly  ceased,  and  Mr.  Gregson,  who  was  positive 
about  not  going  to  bed,  had  changed  his  clothes 
and  drank  two  strong  glasses  of  hot  negus,  Mr. 
Dawes,  the  apothecary,  for  whom  Mrs.  Gregson 
had  sent  off  express,  arrived.  Nothing,  he  de- 
clared, more  judicious  could  have  been  suggested, 
had  he  been  there  himself;  and  then,  assuring  the 
young  people  that  they  might  look  upon  them- 
selves ae  having  been  once  saved  by  Mr.  Greg- 
eon,  and  twice  by  his  wife,  he  forbade  any  of  them 


A    HELP    TO    GREATNESS.  149 

to  leave  their  rooms,  or  even  their  bods,  until  lie 
had  seen  them  ne^t  morning.  He  next  volun- 
teered to  take  Castle  Willoughby  in  iiis  way 
home,  that  he  might  nullify  any  alarm,  by  the 
good  report  which  he  could  take. 

Mrs.  Gregson  thanked  him;  but,  the  moment 
she  had  heard  his  report,  she  had,  she  said,  sent 
off  a  servant  on  horseback,  that  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Sykes  Willoughby  might  be  made  perfectly  easy. 

These  young  people  could  not,  by  any  means, 
be  called  bad-hearted ;  and  yet,  now  that  all 
danger  was  over,  they  wished  anybody  had  saved 
them,  rather  than  the  Gregsons. 

"  How  vexed  mamma  will  be,"  said  Miss  Wil- 
loughby to  her  cousin,  "  to  have  to  tliank  that 
horrid  Mrs.  Gregson,  about  whom  Mrs.  Browne 
has  told  such  absurd  things! — and  him  too! — 
did  you  ever  see  such  a  vulgar  person?" 

Young  Willoughby,  although  he  had  not  a 
chamber-companion  to  whom  he  could  express 
his  sentiments,  amused  himself  by  thinking  how 
he  would  amuse  others,  by  what  he  called  "  the 
humours  of  the  house." 

Mrs.  Sykes  Willoughby  never  thought,  at  the 
first  moment,  about  whom  she  had  to  thank;  she 
felt  too  much  overjoyed  "to  know  that  they  were 
safe,  to  scruple  about  the  means  by  which  they 
were  saved.  After  a  fit  of  hysterics,  therefore, 
her  husband  being  out  shooting  in  anotlier  part 
of  the  county,  she  ordered  her  close  carriage,  and, 
accompanied  by  her  maid,  drove  to  the  Elms, 
although  her  dinner  had  been  waiting  half  an 
hour.  Never  did  a  more  welcome  vision  present 
itself  to  Mrs.  Gregson,  than  that  of  this  csirriage 


150  A    HELP    TO    O&EATNESfl. 

driving  \ip  to  her  door.  Mr.  Gregson  rtevv  to  the 
carriage  steps  to  receive  her;  and  she  entered  the 
house,  leaning  upon  his  arm,  and  pouring  put 
protestations  of  everlasting  gratitude.  She  was 
placed  ill  a  cushioned  chair  by  the  drawing-room 
fire,  with  the  greatest  possible  respect;  and,  after 
Mrs.  Gregson  had  "  feared,"  some  dozen  times, 
"  that  siie  was  ill,"  or  "  that  the  fatigue  would 
overdo  her,"  or  "  that  she  might  suifer  from  this 
excitement,"  she  yielded  to  her  request  to  see  her 
children,  and  was  accordingly  ushered  up  stairs 
by  the  mistress  of  the  house  herself,  who  failed 
not,  all  the  while,  to  insist  upon  the  doctor's 
injunctions  being  attended  to — that  the  young 
people  should  be  left  quiet  till  he  had  seen  them 
next  morning. 

A  sound  of  laughter  and  merriment  proceeded 
from  the  chamber  which  held  the  two  young 
ladies,  as  they  approached  the  apartment. 

"  Nobody  that  hears  this  would  believe  that, 
two  hours  ago,  they  were  just  between  life  and 
death,"  said  Mrs.  Gregson,  as  she  presented  the 
Boftly-stepping  Mrs.  Sykes  Willoughby  to  their 
bed-side. 

The  young  ladies  protested  that  they  were 
quite  well ;  tiiat  they  had  had  an  excellent  dinner 
— thanks  to  Mrs.  Gregson — and  that  now  they 
were  quite  well  enough  to  be  ducked  a  second  time; 
and  they  hoped,  therefore,  the  carriage  was  come 
for  them,  with  plenty  of  dry  clothes.  Mrs.  Sykes 
Willoughby,  however,  would  not  hear  of  their 
returning  home,  nor  yet  of  their  rising.  She 
then  commenced  a  weak  lecture  on  boating,  and 
on  jJaying  with  dogs  on  water;  and  declared,  that 


A    HELP    TO    GREATNESS.  161 

they  should  never  sufficiently  thank  their  good 
neigiibour.  Pretty  much  the  same  scene  took 
place  in  her  son's  chamber,  excepting  that  he 
out-talked  his  mother,  laughed  loud  at  all  her 
fears  for  his  health,  and,  in  the  end,  was  per- 
mitted to  get  up,  dress  in  the  fresh  clothes  that 
had  been  brought,  and  accompany  his  mother 
home. 

This  adventure,  of  course,  made  a  great  talk  in 
Woodburn ;  and  Mrs.  Browne,  who  knew  Mrs. 
Gregson  woidd  be  overjoyed  to  have  a  door  thus 
opened  to  her  acquaintance  with  the  Sykes  Wil- 
loughbys,  lost  not  a  moment  in  making  a  call  the 
next  morning,  being  resolved  to  depreciate  the 
Gregsons'  part  of  the  affair. 

"  It  may  be  a  dangerous  piece  of  water,"  said 
she,  as  she  sate  with  Mrs.  Sykes  Willoughby,  in 
her  morning-room;  "  but  my  son,  who  cannot,  by 
any  means,  be  reckoned  a  rash  young  man,  has 
been  there  times  without  end;  besides,  considering 
that  Mr.  Henry  can  swim,  and  as  the  dog  was 
with  them,  there  w^as  no  danger  of  them  being 
drowned — the  dog  alone  would  have  saved  them.' 

"  You  have  such  excellent  spirits!"  said  Mrs, 
Sykes  Willoughby,  who,  from  alarm  and  excite- 
ment overnii^ht,  was  suffering  this  morning  from 
a  nervous  attack;  "  I  assure  you  I  have  had 
visions  of  drowning  people  before  my  eyes  all 
night!" 

"  Mr.  Henry  himself,"  continued  Mrs.  Browne, 
*'  says  that  Mr.  Gregson  never  touched  him — he 
swam — and  Neptune  certainly  drew  Miss  Wilmott 
to  land — there  are  the  marks  of  his  teeth  in  the 
"tack  of  her  dress — fine  fellow  I — You  ought  to 


152  A    HELP    TO    GREATNESS. 

have  his  picture  taken.  Besides,  if  you  knew  the 
Gregsons  as  well  as  I  do!" — Here  Mrs.  Browne 
stopped  abruptly,  and  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

♦'  I  grant,"  observed  Mrs.  Sykes  Wiiloughby, 
seeing  that  the  otlier  waited  for  her  to  speak, 
"  that  one  does  not  like  to  be  under  obligations 
to  that  sort  of  people.  If  it  had  but  been  some 
poor  man  that  one  could  have  pensioned,  and 
thus  made  comfortable  for  life ' — but  with  such  as 
they,  one  has  no  means  of  returning  the  obligation." 

"  Yes,  you  have — by  visiting  with  them!"  said 
Mrs.  Browne,  sarcastically,  well  knowing  that  to 
Mrs.  Sykes  Wiiloughby,  one  of  the  most  exclu- 
sive, people  in  the  whole  county,  this  was  what 
would  be  particularly  unpleasant. 

"  Impossible !   One  could  not  do  that,"  said  she. 

"  They  are  dreadfully  vulgar,"  replied  Mrs. 
Browne;  we  endured  them  as  long  as  we  could. 
She  was  an  early  humble  friend  of  mine — a  sort 
of  companion  before  I  married.  They  are  under 
great  obligations  to  us,  and  we  did  not  wish  to 
mortify  them;  but,  upon  my  word,  they  are  such 
as  you  could  not  visit." 

Just  as  these  words  were  spoken,  Mrs.  Sykes 
Willoughby's  maid  knocked  at  the  door,  to  say 
that  Mrs-  Gregson  had  brought  home  the  young 
ladies. 

"  Make  my  best  compliments  to  Mrs.  Gregson," 
said  she,  "•'  and  say  I  am  extremely  unwell  this 
morning.  You  can  say,  Stowel,  that  I  have  not 
left  my  room,  and  regret  I  cannot  see  her;  but  I 
will  have  the  honour  of  calling  to  make  my  ac- 
knowledgments, the  first  moment  I  am  able  to  go 
out; — and  send  the  young  ladies  to  me." 


A    HELP    TO    GREATNESS.  153 

The  message  was  delivered,  and  Mrs.  Gregson 
was  mortified;  and  the  young  ladies  having 
offered  her  wine  and  cake,  and  sate  and  chatted 
with  her,  as  a  necessary  mark  of  attention,  in  the 
absence  of  Mrs.  Sykes  Willoughby,  saw  her 
depart,  and  then  ran  up  stairs  to  make  a  long 
history  of  all  that  had  happened,  and  to  laugh 
at  them  all,  with  Mrs.  Browne,  and  to  assure 
their  mother  that  there  really  was  no  danger 
of  their  being  drowned,  considering  that  Henry 
could  swim,  and  that  they  had  Neptune  w.th 
them;  and  that  Mrs.  Gregson,  and  even  Miss 
Gregson,  though  she  was  so  pretty,  and  all  the 
family  too,  were  the  most  amusing  people  they 
had  ever  seen;  and  that  it  was  ahiiost  worth 
another  ducking  to  pass  another  such  night  and 
morning. 

By  the  time  Mr.  Sykes  Willoughby  came 
home,  the  adventure  came  to  be  considered  a 
mere  joke.  No  sooner,  however,  did  he  hear  it 
related,  than  he  treated  it  in  a  very  different 
manner.  "  It  was  the  most  dangerous  piece  of 
water,"  he  said,  "  he  knew  anywhere :  that  it  was 
nonsense  talking  of  Henry  swimming — he  could 
do  no  such  thing;  and  that,  supposing  Neptune 
had  saved  one,  or  at  most  two,  they,  by  that  time, 
would  have  been  insensible;  and,  who  must  have 
summoned  help?"  He  said,  in  short,  that  they 
were  fools  and  blockheads,  and  talked  like  asses  I 
and  that  every  one  of  them  owed  their  lives  to  Mr. 
Gregson ;  and  that  he  himself  should  go  and 
made  his  acknowledgments  to  that  gentleman; 
and  that  he  was  happy  to  know  that  he  had  so  good 
a  neighbour,  who  would  look  after  his  madcaps  in 


154  A    HELP    TO    GREATNESS. 

his  absence;  that  he  had  heard  many  excellent 
things  of  Mr.  Gregson,  and  lie  should  be  proud 
to  shake  hands  with  him. 

Mrs.  Sykes  Willoughby,  who  always  took  her 
opinions  from  the  most  energetic  speaker,  no 
sooner  heard  her  husband  express  himself  thus, 
than  she  tiiought  that  certainly  they  had  been 
very  remiss;  and  that  she  herself,  she  then  remem- 
bered, had  promised  to  call  the  first  time  she  went 
out.  She  therefore  proposed  to  her  husband, 
that  they  should  drive  to  the  Elms  together,  and 
that  they  should  take  Mrs.  Gregson  a  present  of 
fruit — a  tine  pineapple,  and  some  of  their  beautiful 
grapes.  Her  husband  thought  nothing  could  be 
more  proper;  and,  between  three  and  four  o'clock, 
just  as  the  Gregsons  had  done  dinner,  it  was 
announced  that  the  Sykes  Willoughbys'  carriage 
was  coming  up  the  drive.  Most  happy  was  Mrs. 
Gregson  to  think  that  she  and  Lucy  were  well 
dressed,  that  there  was  a  good  fire  in  the  drawing- 
room,  and  that  she  herself  had  swept  up  the  hearth 
before  dinner.  "  It  is  an  excellent  plan  to  have 
a  hearth-brush  always  at  hand,"  thouglit  Mrs. 
Gregson,  as,  in  a  very  agreeable  flutter  of  spirits, 
she  walked  into  the  drawing-room. 

While  the  gentlemen  were  busy  talking  on  a 
variety  of  topics,  which  grew  out  of  this  adventure 
at  the  little  lake,  the  ladies  likewise  \yere  keeping 
up  what  seemed  like  an  animated  conversation. 
At  length  Mrs.  Sykes  Willoughby  spoke  of  the 
views  from  the  windows,  which,  she  said,  she  had 
always  preferred  to  her  own. 

*'  You  know  this  liouie,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Greg- 
son. 


A    HELP    TO    GREATNESS.  155 

Mrs.  Sykes  Willoughby  knew  it  well ;  she  liad 
spent,  she  said,  many  happy  hours  there.  They 
knew  Sir  Henry  Forrester,  who  built  it;  and  her 
recollections  of  the  place  were  all  pleasant. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Mrs.  Gregson,  you  would  then 
like  to  go  over  it  again.  1  think  you  will  say, 
that  in  our  humble  way  we  have  made  it  com- 
fortable ;  though  we  don't  pretend  to  vie  with 
Sir  Henry  Forrester." 

Mrs.  Sykes  Willoughby  declared  that  nothing 
would  give  her  greater  pleasure;  and  accordingly, 
from  kitchen  and  larder  up  to  the  very  attics,  did 
Mrs.  Gregson  take  her  visitor;  not  omitting  by 
any  means  to  open  any  drawers,  or  presses,  or 
cupboards,  which  contained  either  handsome 
dresses,  stores  of  linen,  plate,  or  china,  or  might, 
m  any  way,  give  the  lady  of  Castle  Willoughby 
an  idea  of  their  being  people  of  substance,  and 
who  understood,  likewise,  all  that  was  needful  in  a 
handsome  establishment.  When  they  returned 
to  the  drawing-room,  they  found  the  gentlemen 
had  also  disappeared — Mr.  Gregson  thinking  he 
might  as  well  sliow  his  neighbour,  whom  he  knew 
to  be  an  amateur  farmer  and  breeder  of  cattle, 
his  fine  brood  sow;  and  so,  from  the  sow  to  all  his 
other  out-door  possessions,  not  forgetting  his  six- 
stalled  stable,  every  stall  of  which  was  occupied. 

During  the  absence  of  all  parties,  Lucy  had 
ordered  in  some  of  the  best  wine  in  the  best 
decanters,  with  a  heaped  silver  basket  of  ri"' 
cake;  all  of  which  stood  upon  a  massy  silve. 
waiter  of  great  value.  The  fruit  which  Mrs. 
Sykes  Willoughby  had  brought,  and  which,  in 
the  meantime  had  come  in,  stood  also  upon  the 
H 


156  A    HELP   TO    GREATNESS. 

table.  The  ladies  then  sat  down  to  await  the 
gentlemen's  return;  and,  while  Mrs.  Gregson 
poured  forth  thanks  for  the  fruit,  Mrs.  Sykes 
Willoughby  commended  the  cake,  which  she  con- 
descended to  eat. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  said  Mrs.  Gregson,  helping 
herself  a  second  time  to  some  of  the  grapes, 
"  these  are  much  finer  flavoured  than  their's  at 
Moreby  Lodge." 

"  You  have  seen  Mrs.  Barwell  since  her  re- 
turn," said  Mrs.  Sykes  Willoughby. 

"  No  I  Is  she  returned?"  asked  Mrs.  Gregson, 
hastily;  and,  the  next  moment,  was  sorry  she  had 
done  so. 

"  She  returned  three  days  ago,"  said  the  other. 
"  I  saw  her  yesterday ;  she  is  looking  remarkably 
well:  I  understand  you  are  very  intimate  with 
her." 

"Extremely  so,"  returned  Mrs.  Gregson,  now- 
determined  to  make  all  right.  "  She  is  my  dearest 
friend;  but  she  loves  to  surprise  one;  she  took 
me  by  surprise  when  they  first  came;  she  cannot 
have  been  out  yet,  or  she  would  have  called  on  me." 

"  We  dined  with  them  at  the  Brownes',  yester- 
day," said  Mrs.  Sykes  Willoughby. 

"  Wonderful  people  the  Brownes  are,"  said 
Mrs.  Gregson,  more  mortified  than  she  would 
have  told,  at  what  she  had  heard ;  "  very  won- 
derful people!  Mr.  Gregson  lent  him" the  first 
money  he  ever  had;  he,  in  fact,  furnished  that 
house  for  him  in  Wilton-street;  and  I  knew  her 
as  a  girl;  her  father  was  a  small  grocer. in 
Gloucester,  and  died  a  bankrupt!" 

"  She   is   an   extremely   clever  person,"   said 


GROWING    GREATEB.  157 

Mi-s.  Sykes  Willoughby,  "  nevertheless,  and  gives 
txcelleiit  dinners; — Mr.  Sykes  Willoughby  prefers 
dining  tliere  even  to  the  bishop's." 

Just  then  came  in  the  gentlemen.  "  We  are 
making  an  unconscionable  call,  Mrs.  Gregson," 
said  Mr.  Sykes  Willoughby;  but  your  good  hus- 
band has  been  decoying  me  into  his  farm-yard." 

"  It  is  a  wonder  you  have  found  your  way  m 
at  all,  then,"  said  his  wife,  rising;  "  he  is  so  pas- 
sionately fond  of  animals,"  added  she,  addressing 
Mrs.  Gregson. 

After  Mr.  Sykes  Willoughby  had  taken  a 
couple  of  glasses  of  wine,  which  he  greatly  com- 
mended, and  said  a  few  civil  things  to  Lucy,  and 
thanked  Mrs.  Gregson  for  the  good  care  she  had 
taken  of  his  young  people,  they  made  their  adieus 
and  departed,  leaving  INlrs.  Gregson  much  more 
uneasy  to  hear  that  the  Barwells  had  returned, 
than  pleased  that  the  Sykes  Willoughbys  had 
called. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

GROWING    GREATER. 


It  was  then  too  late  to  drive  to  Moreby  Lodge; 
but  the  next  morning  Mrs.  Gregson  and  her 
daughter  did  not  fail  to  make  their  visit  of 
welcome.  She  had  scarcely  slept  the  whole  night, 
so  full  of  anxiety  was  she,  fearing  lest  they  had 
offended  past  redemption  ;  "and  if  so,"  thought  she, 
"what  a  triumph  to  the  Brownes  !  And  yet,  per- 
haps, after  all,  there  is  no  need  for  apprehension ; 
it  was  but  a  small  thing  to  give  offence  by — iust 


158  GROWING    GREATER. 

admiring  their  carriage;  and,  really  if  they  are 
offended,  they  are,  as  Gregson  says,  full  of  rank 
pride!  However,  offended  or  not,  all  I  desire  is, 
that  the  Brownes  should  not  have  a  triumph  over 
us;  and,  now  that  we  have  begun  so  well  with  the 
Sykes  Willoughbys,  if  I  can  but  keep  up  anything 
like  the  old  intimacy,  I  shall  be  satisfied." 

Full  of  the  determination  to  keep  up  at  least 
something  like  the  old  intimacy,  she  entered  the 
drawing-room  where  Mrs.  Barwell  sate  at  her 
work,  and  with  her  a  lady,  a  visitor,  reading. 
Mrs.  Barwell's  manner  was  kind,  was  unquestion- 
ably kind,  towards  Lucy;  she  also  expressed  plea- 
sure in  again  meeting  her  mother.  An  uninterested 
spectator  would  have  said  any  one  must  be 
satisfied  by  it;  but  Mrs.  Gregson  felt  that  it  was 
very  different  to  their  former  meeting;  heart  was 
now  wanting;  that  very  charm  which  hitherto  had 
made  Mrs.  Barwell's  lightest  word  so  different  to 
other  people's  professions  of  affection.  She  thoughtj 
perhaps  this  difference  was  occasioned  by  the 
presence  of  a  stranger,  and  therefore  she  ma- 
noeuvered  all  kind  of  ways  to  send  Lucy  and  the 
lady  into  the  garden  or  green-house,  or  to  go 
there  herself  with  Mrs.  Barwell.  But  none  of 
her  hints  were  taken,  and  they  still  sate  together, 
talking  on  common  topics.  Towards  Lucy,  how- 
ever, as  we  said,  much  of  her  former  cordiality 
remained.  She  regretted  that  her  niece  was  not 
then  at  home;  she  and  her  uncle  were  gone  out 
for  a  ride  on  horseback.  "  The  Colonel,"  said 
she,  "  is  so  happy  to  have  a  riding  companion;  and 
Mary  Anne  rides  admirably;  but  1  must,  neverthe- 
less, find  you  some  amusement;  you  can  turn  over 


GROWING    GREATER.  159 

these  volumes  of  engravings,  which  we  collected 

in  Germany;  they  are,  many  of  them,  very  fine. 
I  have  some  excellent  Italian  and  German  music 
for  you.  I  hope  you  practise  as  nmch  as  you 
did,  and  that  you  love  music  even  more.  I  did 
not  forget  you  when  I  was  abroad." 

Whilst  Mrs.  Gregson  heard  the  kind  voice  of 
Mrs.  Barweli  thus  speaking  to  her  daughter,  she 
felt  as  if  she  could  throw  herself  on  her  neck,  and 
weep  and  pray  that  they  might  be  as  formerly; 
but  with  this  relenting  mood  came  the  thoughts 
of  the  old  uncle  and  aunt  who  sold  tea,  and  who 
had  been  held  up  to  her  as  constant  examples;  and 
she  knew  that  with  the  old  intimacy  musj;  com* 
the  counsels  and  the  warnings,  which  were  so 
abhorrent  to  her  spirit;  and  therefore  she  deter- 
mined to  let  things  take  their  own  way. 

They  talked,  of  course,  of  the  adventure  of  the 
little  lake,  and  of  Mr.  Gregson's  heroism;  and 
then  she  told  of  the  Sykes  Willoughby's  call,  and 
the  present  of  "  beautiful  fruit;"  and  dwelt  rap- 
turously on  the  "  charming  conversation  and 
manners"  of  the  whole  family;  adding,  "  what  an 
advantage  it  would  be  to  Lucy  to  be  acquainted 
with  them  !"  Had  any  peculiar  expression  passed 
over  Mrs.  Barwell's  countenance  whilst  she  was 
thus  talking,  it  would  instantly  have  stopj)ed  her, 
or  have  qualified  what  she  meant  to  say;  but  none 
did:  she  differed  from  her  on  some  points,  and 
acquiesced  in  others,  in  the  most  cool  and  natural 
way  possible,  but  rather  as  if  with  an  acquaint- 
ance than  an  intimate  friend;  and  therefore,  Mrs. 
Gregson  said  more  than  at  first  she  intended,  as 
if  to  elicit  some  more  decided  sentiment.      She 


160  GROWING    GREATEl. 

told  her  that  the  Sykes  Willoughbys  would  dine 
with  them  soon ;  that  Mr.  Gregson  had  asked 
them,  and  that  they  had  declared  it  would  give 
them  ])leasure;  and  she  hoped,  therefore,  that 
Colonel  and  Mrs.  Barwell  would  meet  them.  It 
might  have  been  the  most  common  thing  in  the 
world  for  the  Sykes  Willoughbys  to  dine  with  the 
Gregsons,  from  the  manner  in  which  Mrs.  Barweh 
accepted  the  invitation,  "  for  whatever  time 
it  might  be;"  adding,  that  "  the  day  before,  they 
had  dined  with  them  at  Mr.  Browne's."  Mrs 
Gregson  did  not  choose  to  make  any  observation 
respecting  the  Brownes'  giving  great  dinners,  lest 
even  a  glance  might  throw  her  observation  back 
upon  herself;  but  she  did  venture  one  remark, 
just  as  a  sort  of  memento  of  old  times,  that  "  the 
Brownes  were  going  on  just  as  usual.  She  sup- 
posed Mrs.  Barwell  had  heard  that  they  had 
bought  a  great  estate  somewhere  in  the  north  of 
England."  Mrs.  Barwell  said  that  she  had;  that 
a  great  deal  was  said  about  it  the  last  night;  it 
appeared  to  be  a  very  fine  estate;  and,  added  she, 
smiling,  "  he  is  now  lord  of  a  manor,  and  she 
lady  of  a  castle;  young  Browne  too  is  up  there 
shooting;  we  had  moor-fowl  from  the  estate,  and 
fish  too  from  the  lakes." 

"  Upon  my  word!"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Gregson, 
with  an  upward  jerk  of  her  head. 

Now,  as  it  happened  that  the  Gregsons'  re- 
moval to  the  Elms  was  the  mainspring  of  the 
Brownes'  possessing  themselves  of  this  estate, 
which  lay  on  the  borders,  whilst  Mrs.  Gregson, 
therefore,  is  finishing  her  call  at  Moreby  Lodge, 
we  may  as  well  say  a  few  words  on  the  subject. 


GROWING    GREATER.  161 

The  Elms,  as  we  before  remarked,  had  been 
the  place,  of  all  others,  which  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browne 
had  desired  to  possess  for  themselves.  Sorely 
galling,  therefore,  was  it,  not  only  to  see  it  in  the 
hands  of  another,  and  that  other,  Mr.  Gregson 
himself,  but  also  to  be  conscious  that  he  (Browne) 
as  a  lawyer,  with  whom  the  deeds,  in  part,  had 
been  deposited,  hid  been  gulled  out  of  it  by  a 
lawyer  more  cunning  than  himself.  They,  how- 
ever, were  politic  people;  and  it  never  was  sus- 
pected by  the  world,  nor  even  by  the  Gregsons, 
that  they  had  had  the  slightest  wish  to  possess  it. 
To  every  one,  therefore,  they  depreciated  the 
place.  "  The  title  was  not  the  best  in  the  world," 
Browne  said;  "  and  it  would  be  well  if  Gregson 
did  not  find  in  the  end  that  he  had  a  dear  bargain." 
"  The  house  was  damp,  and  the  v.ater  was  bad," 
Mrs.  Browne  said ;  "  she  had  it  from  excellent 
authority."  She  even  persuaded  old  Mrs.  Jen- 
nings that  she  herself  had  told  her  so;  and  the 
poor  old  lady,  whose  intellects  were  now  none  of 
the  clearest,  actually  fancied  that  Sir  Henry  For- 
rester's housekeeper  had  told  her  so. 

As  the  Gregsons,  therefore,  now  were  landed 
proprietors,  it  was  not  to  be  expected  that  the 
Brownes  could  remain  satisfied  with  merely  a 
house  in  Wilton-street,  to  which  not  even  half  an 
acre  of  land  belonged.  Many  were  the  places  he 
turned  his  eye  upon — becoming  more  and  more 
ambitious  the  longer  the  idea  dwelt  with  him. 
Perhaps,  ho^vever,  the  circumstance  of  the  Greg- 
sons having  two  carriages  might  act  as  a  spur  to 
his  ambition;  certain  it  is,  that  about  that  time 
he,  too,  began  to  drive  a  pair  of   horses,    and 


162  GROWING    GREATER. 

actually  set  off,  he  and  Mrs.  Browne,  to  soirne* 
where  in  the  North,  with  four  post-horses.  It 
made  a  great  talk  in  Woodburn  at  the  time:  an 
old  client,  it  was  said,  was  on  his  death-bed,  and 
Mr.  Browne  was  sent  for  to  make  liis  will;  and 
then,  it  was  said,  that  he  was  appointed  ward  to  a 
minor  of  weak  intellects;  and,  shortly  afterwards, 
that  he  had  purchased  a  vast  estate  in  Norihum- 
berlaiid,  to  which  all  kinds  of  manorial  privileges 
were  appended;  that  the  family  house  was  a  fine 
castle;  and  now,  this  very  autumn,  young  Browne, 
and  some  of  his  college  friends,  were  gone  up 
shooting  there. 

The  Woodburn  people,  after  this,  no  longer 
wondered  at  any  expense  that  the  Brownes  went 
to;  they  were  looked  upon  as  among  the  richest 
people  of  the  neighbourhood;  and  their  dinners, 
and  her  dresses  and  evening  parties,  and  young 
Browne's  college  life,  and  his  shooting  excursions 
in  the  North,  to  which  he  set  out  ironi  Wood- 
burn,  accompanied  by  a  keeper,  pointers,  do<j- 
cart,  and  two  Joe  Mantons,  said  to  have  cost  a 
hundred  guineas,  no  longer  made  a  nine  days' 
wonder,  but  Mere  only  regarded  as  every-day 
occurrences.  But  there  was  yet  one  family  with 
whom  tiieir  doings  still  excited  attention;  and  that, 
it  is  needless  to  say,  was  the  Gregsons.  "  I 
wonder  what  will  be  the  end  of  all  this  I"  and 
"  Well,  to  be  sure!"  and,  "  Was  ever  the  like 
heard  I "  and,  "  Those  people  are  the  most  extra- 
ordinary that  ever  lived!"  accompanied  by  all 
kinds  of  significant  nods  and  looks,  were  heard  at 
the  dinner-table,  and  by  the  fireside,  at  the  Elms, 
whenever  the  Brownes  were  talked  of;   neither 


GROWING    GREATER.  163 

Mr.  nor  Mrs.  Gregson  ever  seeming  to  remember 
tiiat  they  were  doing  the  very  tilings  themselves, 
though,  perhaps,  in  a  less  exalted  style,  as  the 
people  they  wtre  censuring.  The  fact  was,  that 
these  two  families  were,  and  had  been  lor  years, 
like  rivals  in  a  race; — the  moment  one  seemed  to 
be  getting  ahead,  the  efforts  of  the  other  were 
excited  to  shoot  past,  by  some  excelling  piece  of 
grandeur  or  expense. 

Having  said  thus  much  to  bring  up  the  career 
of  the  Brownes  to  the  present  moment,  we  must 
return  to  Mrs.  Gregson,  whom  we  left  sitting 
with  Mrs.  Barwell.  When  she  reviewed  her  call 
at  Moreby  Lodge,  it  was  impossible  to  say  uhat 
her  exact  feelings  were.  It  was  evident  to  her- 
self, that  Mrs.  Barwell  was  now  quite  willing  that 
she  should  take  a  rank  in  society  above  trades- 
people; that  she  was  not  going  to  be  surprised, 
nor  yet  to  regret,  their  giving  great  dinner  parties: 
she  herself  was  treated  no  longer,  either  "  as  an 
humble  friend,  or  as  an  upper  servant;"  the  very 
thing  she  had  wished  for,  seemed  to  have  been 
brought  about — she  was  treated  as  an  equal  in 
rank.  But  what  did  all  this  imply?  that  Mrs. 
Barwell  had  ceased  to  feel  the  solicitude  and 
affection  of  an  earnest  friend.  Very  probably  so; 
but,  argued  Mrs.  Gregson  with  herself,  on  these 
terms  I  stand  better  with  the  world:  on  these 
terms  I  shall  not  again  be  bored  with  those  ever- 
lasting old  shop-keepers  I  and  1  am  not  quite  sure 
whether  all  that  interference,  and  giving  advice, 
was  not  impertinent;  at  all  events,  she  never 
would  have  dune  so  with  Mrs.  Browne:  another 
thing,  INIrs.  Browne  never  would  have  permittefi 


164  GROWING    GREATEE. 

t 

it,  for,  with  all  her  faults,  she  does  not  want 
spirit!  To  Lucy,  certainly,  she  is  as  kind  as 
ever;  and  if  I  can  but  make  Lucy  and  Miss  Bar- 
well  friends,  all  will  be  right;  and,  if  so,  I  think 
things  are  much  better  as  they  are. 

Mrs.  Gregson,  however,  could  not  *brget  the 
affair  of  the  britchka,  and  she  felt  a  little  anxious 
about  their  first  being  seen  by  the  Barwelis  in  it; 
it  would,  however,  she  thought,  be  better  to  take 
all  quietly,  and  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  go  to 
church  in  it  as  usual.  Still,  she  could  not  help 
wondering  what  kind  of  carriage  they  would  have — 
whether  a  new  one,  and  anything  like  the  old; 
and  this  wonder  she  expressed  to  her  husband. 

"  I  have  seen  them  driving  in  two  carriages," 
said  he — "  one  sees  them  everywhere! — one,  a 
sort  of  britchka,  but  nmch  lower  and  lighter  than 
ours — a  splendid  little  thing — drawn  by  a  pair  of 
grey  cobs.  If  he  had  made  you  a  present  of  such 
a  thing,  there  would  have  been  some  sense  in  it! 
The  other  is  a  large,  heavy  carriage,  with  four 
black  horses,  and  postilions." 

"  Really!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Gregson. 

"  They  seem  inclined  to  cut  a  pretty  dash!** 
said  her  husband. 

"  They  are,  at  all  events,  determined  that  we 
shall  not  imitate  them  again,"  thought  she;  and, 
someway,  she  was  troubled  all  day  by  the  idea  of 
this  surpassing  equipage;  for  she  fancied  it  had 
a  mortifying  reference  to  them. 

In  a  few  days,  the  very  coach  and  four  brought 
Mrs.  Barwell  to  return  Mrs.  Gregson's  call,  and 
to  introduce  Miss  Barwell  to  Lucy.  Spite  of  her 
cordiality  to  Lucy,  Mrs.  Gregson  felt  still  more 


GROWING    GREATER.  165 

impressed  by  the  punctiliousness  of  her  demeanour 
to  herself.  "  There  will  be  no  danger  now,"  she 
thought,  "  of  her  dismissing  her  carriage,  and 
insisting  upon  tailing  tea  with  us  at  six  o'clock,  as 
she  did  in  Bridge-street;  but  then,  I've  got  rid  of 
the  okl  tca-siiop !  " 

Whilst*  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gregson  were  thinking, 
one  day,  very  seduously,  about  giving  their  first 
great  dinner-party,  there  came  formal  cards  of 
invitation  to  them  to  dine  with  Colonel  and  Mrs. 
Barwell  on  the  30th  instant,  which  was  then  two 
weeks  oft";  and  cards  also  for  the  same  evening, 
for  Miss  Gregson,  and  Mr.  Thomas  and  iMr. 
George  Gregson; — quadrilles  to  commence  at  10 
o'clock.  All  the  house  was  at  once  put  into 
a  delightful  flutter.  Mrs.  Gregson  had  never 
seen  her  husband  so  well  pleased  before. 

*'  Yes,  yes,"  said  he,  laughing  and  rubbing  his 
hands;  "  you  may  talk  as  you  will  about  Mrs. 
Barwell's  good  sense,  and  philosophy,  and  fViend- 
ship  for  you,  but  you  see  she's  every  bit  as  weak 
as  other  people !  We  never  were  good  enough 
to  go  to  their  parties  till  somebody  greater  than 
themselves  had  noticed  us;  and,  it  seems  I  may 
thank  the  young  Sykes  Willoughbys*  tumbling 
into  the  water,  for  the  honour  of  dining  at  Moreby 
Lodge." 

His  wife  joined  him  in  laughing,  as  if  she  thought 
he  was  right;  but  in  truth,  she  knew  that  the  true 
cause  of  their  being  invited  to  dine  with  a  grand 
party  at  Moreby,  was  because  they  had  forfeited 
the  esteem  of  its  mistress — they  were  no  more  to 
^er  now  than  common  acquaintance. 


166  GROWING    GREATER. 

A  most  properly  worded  note,  stating  that  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Gregson  would  have  the  honour  of 
dining  at  Moreby  Lodge  on  the  30th  instant,  was 
written  and  despatched — the  same  likewise,  on 
behalf  of  the  young  people;  and,  Mr.  Gregson 
being  unusually  good-humoured,  gave  his  wife 
two  twenty  pound  bills,  telling  her  that  he  should 
expect  to  see  both  Lucy  and  herself  looking  as 
well  as  anybody,  if  it  were  only  to  show  that  they 
knew  how  to  do  things  handsomely. 

It  would  not  be  quite  the  thing,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Gregson  decided,  to  give  their  dinner  btfore 
the  30th,  therefore  that  subject  was  dismissed 
for  the  present;  besides,  said  the  lady,  I  shall  like 
to  see  how  Mrs.  Barwell  manages;  I'or  I  would  not, 
for  the  world,  do  anything  shabbily. 

Before  the-y  gave  their  dinner,  it  so  happened, 
however,  that  she  had  a  double  opportunity  of 
seeing  how  a  great  entertainment  was  managed; 
for,  the  very  M^eek  after  the  invitation  came  from 
Moreby  Lodge,  one  came  also  from  Castle  Wil- 
loughby,for  the  7th  of  the  following  month — dinner 
and  evening  party,  the  young  Gregsons  and  Lucy 
also  being  included.  Anybody  may  conceive 
what  an  everlasting  subject  these  two  important 
events  would  furnish;  morning,  noon  and  night, 
if  they  were  not  talked  of,  they  -were  at  least 
thought  of.  It  was  several  days  before  Mrs. 
Gregson  could  decide  upon  what  she  would  wear; 
at  length  she  fixed  upon  black  velvet,  with  a 
turban  of  gold  tissue. 

In  this  dress,  therefore,  she  made  her  appear* 
ance;  and,  as  she  had  the  good  taste  not  to  ov^« 


GROWING    GREATER.  167 

*ioad  herself  with  indifferent  jewellery,  she  looked 
rerj'  well.  "  Not  unlike  a  gentlewoman,"  thought 
Mrs.  Burwell,  as  she  saw  her  enter  the  room. 

To  Mrs.  Gregson's  delight,  the  Brownes  were 
there — she  too  in  black  velvet.  Not  a  word  of 
recognition  passed  between  them,  but  a  look  of 
triumph  on  Mrs.  Gregson's  part,  and  of  con- 
temptuous indifference  on  that  of  Mrs.  Browne. 
This  latter  lady,  however,  had  greatly  tiie  advan- 
tage in  one  respect;  she  was  quite  at  ner  ease, 
while  her  quondam  friend  was  by  far  too  con- 
scious, too  solicitous  to  look  pleased,  either  to  be 
easy  or  natural. 

It  was  more  than  a  year  since  Mrs.  Gregson 
had  seen  Browne ;  it  was  more  than  three  years 
since  she  had  been  in  his  company,  and  she  was 
now  forcibly  struck  by  his  appearance:  he  looked 
so  old,  so  anxious,  so  abstracted,  so  shrunk  as 
it  were  into  himself.  She  could  not  but  remark 
the  difference  between  him  and  her  hu>band — 
stout  and  open-visaged,  full  of  enjoyment  as  he 
appeared,  and  listened  to  as  an  oracle  by  a  circle 
of  country  gentlemen,  to  whom  Mr.  Sykes  Wil- 
loughby  had  introduced  him,  as  a  breeder  of  the 
finest  pigs  in  England;  whilst  poor  Mr. Browne  sate 
in  a  corner  of  a  sofa,  speaking  to  no  one,  and,  if 
addressed,  looking  as  if  roused  from  a  reverie  for 
a  moment,  and  then  relapsing  into  the  same  state 
of  abstraction  as  before. 

"  How  dreadfully  Mr.  Browne  looks  to-night !" 
said  she  to  Mrs.  Barwell. 

"  Poor   man  I"   she  replied,    without  glancing 
towards  him,  "  he  is  wearing  himself  out" 
15 


168  GROWING    GREATER. 

"  By  his  profession  you  meati)''  said  Mrs 
Gregson. 

"  He  is  making  haste  to  grow  rich  too  fast,** 
observed  Mrs.  Barwell. 

Mrs.  Gregson  made  no  answer,  for  she  felt  as 
if  a  reproach  were  implied;  and,  the  next  moment, 
dinner  was  announced.  The  sight  of  the  costly 
dinner-service  of  solid  silver,  all  of  the  most 
exquisite  workmanship,  filled  the  heart  of  poor 
Mrs.  Gregson  with  despair.  "  I  never  can  come 
up  to  this,"  thought  she.  "  I  wonder  what  kind  of 
dinner-service  the  Brownes  have:  1  wish  I  could 
know!"  She  inadvertently  glanced  across  the 
table  to  wlipre  Mrs.  Browne  sate,  and  their  eyes 
met.  It  seemed  as  if  Mrs.  Browne  had  divined 
the  thought  which  was  in  her  rival's  mind,  and 
she  smiled  as  if  in  derision;  that  smile,  and  the 
consciousness  of  the  thought,  made  Mrs.  Gregson 
blush;  and  that  blush  was  excessively  mortifying, 
particularly  as  she  felt  that  Mrs.  Browne's  eyes 
were  still  upon  her :  in  her  heart  she  hated  her. 
In  the  course  of  the  evening,  however,  her 
triumph  came,  for  everybody  admired  Lucy ; — such 
a  sweet  countenance,  and  so  beautiful;  and  she 
danced  so  well  too — not  even  the  bi  autiful  Miss 
Wilmott  surpassed  her.  To  her  mother's  great 
delight,  she  observed  that  young  SykesWilloughby 
danced  with  her  five  times.  She  wished  that 
"  Bonnie  Prince  Charlie"  had  but  been  there,  to 
have  seen  how  he  M'ould  have  gone  on,  and 
whether  he  would  have  paid  her  any  attention. 
He,  however,  was  in  the  North;  and,  spite  of  hef 
secret   wish   that   he   had   been    there,  she    fuit 


GROWING    GREATEK.  1 6D 

• 

annoyed  when  everybody  regretted  his  absence; 
but  he  will  be  back,  said  they,  in  time  for  the 
ball  at  Castle  Willoughby;  and  then,  thought  she, 
I  shall  see  him. 

Whilst  Lucy  was  dancing  with  Henry  Sykes 
Willoughby,  Tom  Gregson  was  dancing  with 
Miss  Barwell.  "  Do  you  see  *how  well  they  are 
matched?"  whispered  Mr.  Gregson  to  his  wife. 
His  words  conveyed  the  id^a  he  intended,  and  a 
new  ambition  a-t  once  took  possession  of  her. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gregson  went  home  delighted. 
It  vv'as  a  great  coming  down,  to  Tom  and  George 
to  go  next  morning  to  the  warehouse,  and  n)ake 
pntries  in  the  great  ledger  about  anytliing  so 
vulgar  as  cheese.  Their  father  himself  felt  rather 
indisposed  for  business,  and  told  them  that  he 
should  not  go  down  to  Woodburn  thai  day,  but 
that  they  must  do  double  duty  for  him.  Whether 
or  not  they  did  so  may  be  a  questionable  thing. 

The  great  party  at  Castle  Willoughby  was  now 
the  object  towards  which  all  desires  were  turned. 
Mrs.  Gregson  bought  brocaded  satin  for  this 
occasion;  Lucy,  who  before  had  worn  pink  satin, 
was  now  to  be  dressed  in  white,  with  blush  roses 
in  her  hair.  Her  father  himself  took  extraordinar}' 
interest  in  her  appearance,  while  he  gave  to  each 
of  his  sons  ten  pounds,  that  they  might  still  farther 
replenish  their  wardrobes. 

"  Now,  boys,  you  must  mind  your  p*s  and  q's, 
let  me  tell  you,"  said  he,  "  for  the  Bonnie  Prince 
will  be  there!" 

All  the  Gregsons  indeed  kept  this  in  view;  and 
not  only  that  the  son  was  to  be  there,  but  that 
the  parents  were  to  be  there  also.    "  And  1*11  mind 


170  GROWING    GREATER. 

• 

and  not  be  put  out  of  countenance  again  by  that 
woman,"  thought  Mrs.  Gregson.  All  those  ex- 
pectations of  meeting  the  Brovvnes,  however,  were 
destined  to  be  disappointed.  The  Brownes  were 
not  there,  and  Mrs.  Gregson  had  the  mortification 
of  hearing  everybody  regretting  the  circumstance. 

"  I  am  sorry  we  shall  not  see  Mrs.  Browne  to- 
night, nor  yet  Mr.  Charles  Edward,"  said  one. 

"  Gone  into  the  North,  did  you  say,  Mrs. 
Sykes  Willoughby?"  asked  another. 

"  Yes,"  was  her  reply,  "  quite  unexpectedly. 
I  had  a  note  only  a  few  hours  ago." 

"  Something  about  a  law-suit !"  said  a  gentle- 
man, who  carried  his  hands  under  his  coat-laps, 
and  looked  very  knowing:  "  well,  if  it  do  not  lead 
him  into  Chancery." 

"  What!  something  wrong  about  his  title?" 
asked  Mr.  Gregson.  chuckling,  because  Browne 
had  said  the  title  to  the  Elms  was  bad. 

"  Can't  say — can't  say  I"  repeated  the  gentle- 
man who  hid  his  hands;  and,  further  than  that, 
the  Gregsons  could  that  night  get  no  information. 
Again  Lucy  was  much  admired,  and  again  she 
danced  with  young  Sykts  Willoughby,  and  again 
Tom  danced  with  Miss  Barwell.  Everything 
seemed  to  the  Gregsons  as  it  should  be;  and,  in 
the  dark  of  the  winter  morning,  they  drove  away 
from  Castle  Willoughby,  in  apparent  good  humour 
with  all  the  world.  One  subject,  however,  was 
about  equalJy  paramount  with  pleasure  in  their 
minds,  and  that  was  curiosity  respecting  the 
Brownes. 

"  rU  tell  you  what,"  said  he  to  his  wife,  as  they 
drove  along,  "  that  fellow  has  got  to  the  end  of 


GROWING  GREATER.  171 

Ills  nui-.n':!  'J'here'Il  be  a  smash  up  there  before 
long!  and  I  must  look  after  my  five  hundred 
poundsl" 

"  Have  not  you  got  that  money  yet?"  asked 
Mrs.  Gregson,  in  surprise. 

"  No,"  returned  he;  and,  so  as  I've  bothered 
him,  he'd  liave  paid  it^  before  now  if  he  could! 
What  a  fool  I  have  been  I  And  now  I  think  of  it, 
there  was  a  queer  rumour  some  four  months  ago. 
Upon  my  word,  tiiough,  I'll  look  sharp  after  my 
money  now!  What  must  he  be  buying  estates 
for,  and  can't  pay  his  debts?"  said  he,  growing 
angry  as  he  thought  of  his  probable  loss. 

"  I'm  sure  I  would  have  it!"  said  his  wife. 

"Never  fear  but  I  will!"  said  he,  "  if  I  sell 
him  up  for  it." 

The  next  day,  Mr.  Gregson  failed  not  to  present 
himself  at  Browne's  office,  and,  in  his  absence, 
demanded  to  see  the  confidential  clerk.  To  him 
he  presented  his  demand  for  five  hundred  pounds, 
borrowed  money,  and  three  years'  interest.  The 
clerk  said  he  had  no  orders  to  pay  it,  but  that  he 
•would  communicate  Mith  Mr.  Browne. 

"  When  will  he  be  back?"  asked  he. 

The  clerk  could  not  tell. 

"  What!  he's  in  hiding,  is  he?"  asked  Gregson. 

The  clerk  was  taken  a  little  by  surprise,  yet, 
after  a  moment's  hesitation,  he  said,  "  No  such 
thing!"  iNIr.  Browne  was  at  Morpeth;  he  could 
give  Mr.  Gregson  his  address,  if  he  wished  it. 

"Now,  harkee!"  said  Gregson,  "I  know  much 
more  than  you  are  aware  of.  You  write,  there- 
fore, and  tell  Browne  so;  and  tell  him  if  he  don't 
Bend  me  an  order  on  his  banker,  by  return  of 


172  CONCLUSION. 

post,  for  principal  and  interest,  why,  I'll  send  an 
execution  into  the  house ! — that's  all."  And,  strik- 
ing his  fist  upon  the  table,  and  looking  very 
determined,  as  if  he  knew  a  great  deal  more  than 
he  chose  to  confess,  he  got  up  slowly  from  his 
chair,  and  then,  drawing  down  his  waistcoat  and 
drawing  up  his  person,  he  added,  "  Now,  you 
see  and  tell  him  every  word  I  have  said  I" 

The  clerk  said  that  he  would,  but  he  was  sure 
Mr.  Gregson  was  under  a  gross  mistake,  and,  he 
must  confess,  had  not  behaved  like  a  gentleman. 

Mr.  Gregson  did  not  choose  to  bandy  words 
with  Mr.  Browne's  clerk,  and  therefore,  merely 
nodding,  as  much  as  to  sa}',  he  knew  what  he  was 
about,  left  the  office. 


CHAPTER    XV. 


CONCLUSION. 


Mrs.  Barwell,  whose  good  opinion  of  Lucy 
Gregson  had  been  raised  still  higher  by  the 
modesty  and  propriety  of  her  behaviour,  the  two 
evenings  she  had  been  in  her  company,  was  quite 
willing  to  make  her  the  associate  of  her  niece; 
and  therefore,  a  few  days  after  the  party  at  the 
Willoughbys,  she  drove  to  the  Elms  for  the 
purpose  of  inviting  her  to  spend  a  few  days  with 
her.  Nothing  could  have  given  Mrs.  Gregson 
greater  pleasure,  nor  was  Lucy  less  pleased;  but 
her  mother  had  ulterior  purposes  to  serve,  of  which 
she  knew  nothing. 

Several  weeks  had   now  pass^4  on,  and  two 


CONCLUSION.  173 

ittbjects  were  beginning  to  be  deeply  interesting 
to  the  Gregsons.  In  the  first  place,  Lucy  beiug 
frequently  at  Moreby  Lodge,  afforded  opportuni- 
ties for  her  brother  Tom  to  go  there  too.  Tom 
was  reckoned  handsome,  and,  his  mother  flattered 
herself,  would  be  found  irresistible  by  any  young 
lady,  let  her  be  ever  so  considerable  an  heiress 
But  caution  and  circumspection,  and  all  kind  of 
prudent  virtues,  were  needful,  lest  the  suspicions 
of  the  uncle  and  aunt  were  excited,  and  thus  not 
only  her  hopes  for  her  son  defeated,  but  all  inti- 
macy between  the  famiUes  cut  off  for  ever. 

After  Lucy  had  paid  two  visits,  her  mother  pro- 
posed that  Miss  Barwell  should  return  them  by 
one  long  visit.  There  was  considerable  demur 
and  difficulty  on  Mrs.  Barwell's  part,  but  at  last 
she  consented,  that  "  certainly  she  should  visit 
them  before  long,  but  that  Lucy  must  not  object 
to  give  three  visits  for  one."  Lucy,  therelore, 
paid  another  visit,  and  then  Miss  Barwell  was 
allowed  to  go  to  the  Elms  for  two  days.  '•  Two 
days  are  as  nothing  I"  said  Mrs.  Gregson  to  her 
husband;  "  however,  we  must  make  the  most  of 
them!" 

Tom  was  never  at  the  warehouse  for  one  single 
hour.  He  drove  Miss  Barwell  out  in  his  mother's 
pony  phaeton;  she  and  Lucy  rode  out  together 
on  horseback,  accompanied  by  him;  they  played 
at  chess  together;  he  turned  over  the  leaves  of 
her  music-book,  and  even  sang  with  her;  for, 
among  his  other  accomplishments,  Tom  Gregson 
sang  very  well.  His  father  and  motiier  were 
delighted. 

"  Fair  and  softly,"  said  Mr.  Gregson,  rubbing 


174  CONCLUSION. 

his  handS)  "  and  he'll  carry  the  day.  There  is 
nothing  li-ke  being  first  in  the  field ! " 

A  few  days  afterwards,  Mrs.  Gregson  met  Miss 
Harwell  in  the  Sykes  Willoughbys'  carriage:  there 
was  Mrs.  Sykes  Willoughby,  and  her  son,  and  Miss 
Barwell ;  and  the  two  young  people  were  laughing 
and  talking  together.  It  was  a  very  unpleasant 
thing  to  see;  and  the  more  so,  as  she  did  not 
doubt  but  that  this  match  would  be  thought 
desirable  by  all  parties.  She  had  laid  out  young 
Sykes  Willoughby  for  her  own  daughter;  bjit  if 
this  connexion  were  to  be  formed  with  the  Bar- 
wells,  there  was  an  end  to  both  her  schemes  at 
once. 

This  scheme  of  securing  the  heiress  for  Tom 
was  the  subject  first  and  foremost  in  the  Gregsons* 
mind;  but  there  was  another  subject  also,  which 
was  hardly  less  interesting,  and  that  was  the 
growing  rumour  respecting  the  embarrassments  of 
the  Brownes. 

The  family  was  still  in  the  North,  although,  it 
was  said,  that  they  were  daily  expected;  and 
Gregson  was  waiting  for  that  daily  return,  to  have 
his  claim  satisfied — Browne  having. himself  written 
to  assure  him  of  payment  being  made  the  first 
moment  he  came  back.  Week  after  week,  how- 
ever, went  on,  without  their  returning,  and  all 
Woodburn  began  to  talk;  something,  evidently, 
was  wrong.  There  was  a  law-suit,  some  said, 
and  that  this  grand  estate  in  the  North  would  all 
go  to  pay  off  law-expenses.  The  fact  was,  that 
this  estate  was  the  property  of  a  certain  Mr. 
Warrilow,  a  person  of  weak  intellects,  whose 
wardship  Browne  had,  by  some  means,  obtained. 


CONCLUSION,  175 

He  was  pensioned  witli  a  farmer  on  the  estate,  at 
small  cost,  and  Browne  had  taken  possession  of 
the  whole  as  his  own.  It  happened,  however, 
that  Warrilow  had  an  uncle,  or  cousin,  a  shrewd 
man  of  business,  in  Glasgow,  of  whose  existence 
Browne  had  been  unaware:  this  person  had  now 
coiye  forward  in  his  relative's  behalf,  and  threat- 
ened all  kind  of  desperate  actions  at  law.  And  dis- 
graceful disclosures,  if  every  penny  were  not 
refunded,  and  all  given  up  as  it  had  been  received 
in  trust,  ten  years  before.  Ten  years  of  expendi- 
ture, such  as  the  Brownes'  had  been,  wlio  never 
looked  fur  a  day  of  reckoning,  had  made  awful 
inroads  into  the  funds  of  the  estate;  to  say  nothing 
of  the  ten  years  of  rent,  which  had  all  gone. 

Browne  knew,  from  the  first,  that  there  was 
nothing  but  ruin  and  disgrace  before  him,  yet  he 
clung  to  possession  as  a  drowning  man  to  a  twig, 
and  tried  all  means  which  his  lawcraft  could 
suggest,  to  delay,  at  least,  the  day  of  reckoning. 
It  was  this  which  had  taken,  and  now  kept,  the 
Brownes  in  the  North;  for  Browne,  unlike  Greg- 
son,  in  all  his  schemes  of  self-aggrandizement, 
made  hi^  wife  his  confidant;  nay,  in  ft^ct,  it  was 
believed  that  she  w^as  the  mainspring  of  this  afi'air; 
at  least,  the  farmer  who  had  poor  Warrilow  in 
keeping,  declared  that  all  his  orders  were  received 
from  her. 

Indistinct  rumours  of  all,  this  reached  Wood- 
burn,  and  demands  of  all  kinds  poured  in  upon 
the  distracted  head  clerk.  At.  length  it  became 
necessary  that  the  Brownes  should  make  their 
appearance,  to  save  the  very  household  furniture 


176  CONCLUSION, 

from  the  hands  of  the  creditors,  among  whom 
Gregson  was  the  most  clamorous. 

We  have  said  how  haggard  and  anxious  poor 
Mr.  Browne  looked  on  the  night  of  the  Barwells' 
party.  It  was  with  a  countenance  ten  times 
more  worn  and  anxious,  that  he  again  made  his 
appearance  in  his  office.  Not  like  his,  however, 
(vas  the  appearance  of  his  wife;  she  looked  portly, 
as  usual;  and,  if  some  tracee  of  anxiety  appealed 
in  her  countenance,  they  might  easily  be  accounted 
for  by  the  vexatious  rumours  which  had  been 
maliciously  circulated,  she  said,  as,  on  the  day 
after  their  return,  she  drove  round  Woodburn  in 
her  carriage,  from  shop  to  shop,  wherever  a  bill 
was  owing,  paying  every  one  out  of  a  large  purse, 
which  to  the  last  moment  seemed  full. 

After  she  had  thus  gloriously,  as  she  said, 
given  the  lie  to  all  the  Woodburn  slander,  she 
drove  to  make  calls  on  all  her  IViends,  and  to 
leave,  as  she  said  to  herself,  a  legacy  for  the 
Gregsons.  Wherever  she  went,  therefore,  she 
did  not  fail  to  say,  (which  she  did  on  speculation, 
although  it  proved  to  be  nearer  the  truth  than 
she  was  aware  of,)  "  that  everybody  was  talking 
of  young  Gregson  and  Miss  Barwell;  th?.t  it  was 
shocking  to  think  what  that  artful  woman,  Mrs. 
Gregson,  was  capable  of  doing;  and  that  every- 
body who  had  the  least  respect  for  Mrs.  Barwell, 
ought  to  warn  her  of  what  was  going  forward." 

One  tithe  of  what  Mrs.  Browne  said  would 
have  been  enough ;  however,  she  was  resolved 
not  to  do  her  work  by  halves;  so  she  drove  to 
the  Jenningses,  and  to  old  Mrs.  Robinson's,  and 


CONCLUSION.  177 

Miss  Can''s,  and  to  a  dozen  other  houses  besides , 
and  then  to  Castle  Willoughby,  where,  as  if 
fortune  would  befriend  her,  Mrs.  Sykes  Willoughby 
said,  she  herself  had  had  the  sanne  suspicion,  and 
had  thought  seriously  of  mentioning  it  to  Mrs. 
Barwell,  but  that  they  were  under  an  obligation 
to  the  Gregsons — at  least  Mr.  Sykes  Willoughby 
thought  so — and  therefore  she  hardly  knew  what 
to  do  :  "  however,"  said  she,  *'  if  you  will  give  me 
a  seat  in  your  carriage,  I  will  accompany  you  to 
Moreby  Lodge,  and  we  can  both  speak  of  it ;  it 
will  thus  have  double  effect." 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  satisfactory  to 
Mrs.  Browne  ;  and,  in  half  an  hour's  time,  they 
filled  Mrs.  Barwell's  mind  with  burning  indigna- 
tion. She,  however,  did  not  seem  as  much  in- 
censed as  she  really  was,  and,  of  course,  as  the  two 
ladies  thought,  she  ought  to  have  been  ;  and,  w^^at 
was  still  more,  they  both  saw  Lucy  herself  help- 
ing Miss  Barwell  to  feed  a  pair  of  love-birds. 
They  exchanged  very  intelligent  glances,  an^,  as 
they  drove  home,  nodded  their  heads  and  said, 
"  Mrs.  Barwell  must  take  the  consequences  :  but 
they  were  sure  it  would  be  a  most  disgraceful 
thing  for  a  girl  with  such  a  splendid  fortune  to 
tnarry  a  cheese-monger !" 

*'  And  now,"  said  Mrs.  Browne  to  her  husband, 
that  same  evening,  throwing  down  upon  the  table 
the  purse  from  which  she  had  paid  the  bills  m  the 
morning,  "  I  have  saved  your  credit  for  one  day 
at  leas>t !  Three  hundred  pounds  now  remain  in 
this  purse  ;  your  clothes  are  packed,  so  are  mine, 
and  all  is  now  ready  for  our  departure.  Charles 
Edward  writes  me  word  that  the  passage  money 


178  CONCLUSIOir. 

is  paid,  and  they,  when  we  are  on  board,  only 
will  wait  for  fair  wind.  Sufficient  is  secured  to 
us  to  keep  us  far  above  want — let  them  take  the 
rest!  One  comfort  at  least  I  shall  have  to  my 
dying  day,"  said  she  triumphantly,  "I  have  done 
for  the  Gregsons !" 

That  same  evening  Lucy  Gregson  was  sent 
home  in  Mrs.  Barwell's  little  carriage.  She  was 
in  tears  as  she  entered  the  drawing-room,  where 
her  mother  was  sitting. 

"Good  gracious!  what  is  amiss  child?"  ex- 
claimed she,  fjightened  by  her  daughter's  tears 
and  her  unexpected  return. 

"  I  shall  never  go  to  Moreby  Lodge  again  I" 
said  Lucy  ;  "  read  that,"  and  she  gave  her  mother 
a  letter  from  Mrs.  Bar  well. 

The  next  morning  the  Brownes  were  gone,  no 
one  knew  whither.  No  sooner  was  this  noised 
abroad  than  creditors,  among  whom  was  Gregson, 
rushed  in  with  demands  for  money;  mortgages 
and  bonds  of  all  kinds;  club  money;  soldiers* 
pensions ;  widows*  annuities,  and  orphans'  por- 
tions! And,  spite  of  all  that  the  so  lately-satisfied 
tradesmen  could  say,  one  deep,  if  not  loud,  exe- 
cration rung  through  Woodburn. 

Such  was  the  career  of  two  families,  who,  with 
every  means  to  secure  and  diffuse  rational  happi- 
ness, pursued  only  the  miserable  aim  of  outshining 
GAch  other. 


THE  £ND» 


MM  iUlUM 


